Of Light and Shadows, V
+ June 2006
+ The Tavern of Dreams, Celeano
The night would be marked as one of the most peculiar for Destiny. With some plan seeming to lurk in the back of his mind, Cursed brought forth one of Nod’s fallen: Destiny’s own beloved, Saint. Through fire and ash, his body brought forth to stand amidst the growing mass of people within the foreign establishment. Unabashed by his nudity, the man seemed to take pleasure in his risen body; nails cutting against his skin and letting free a torment of blood to weave a trail against the length of his torso, staining his cocaine white skin with the red of his blood.
Drawn by the alluring scent, Destiny cut the distance between them. Afflicted with the pesky Ventrue nature of desiring one particular source to feed from, Destiny was caught with the discomfort of having only one avenue of feeding—unless she was driven to her Father’s herd, usually by starvation or the demands of her brother. While she had hated what Demere had forced her to become, the Saint coaxed a deeper understanding of her new nature, and helped her rise beyond the misery of feeding. In turn, her affliction had latched onto the man, and blood from others made her feel quite displeased. So with the scent of his blood on the air, and her lack of feeding for over two weeks, Destiny was eager to close the distance between herself and her beloved.
Positioning himself behind the Princess, Saint’s hands played against her back; razor-sharp nails breaking through the fine fabric and splitting open each layer. With a callous motion, the clothing was discarded upon the floor. Strangely enough, in a room surrounded by friends and family, none even looked twice at the now nude couple; nor when Saint’s nails began to rake across Destiny’s pale skin and place random cuts upon her chest and stomach. Against her back, she could feel the parasitic reaction of Saint’s body beginning to heal his wounds; the wormlike manipulations that pressed out and dove back into his flesh.
Her hands cupped about the backsides of her arms, crossing over her chest and feeling tacky against the blood on her torso. Drawing her hands down, her thumbs brushed the insides of her arms, feeling the self-inflicted scars that lined her pale flesh. As her thumbs brushed against the interior of her wrists—and thus the small winged tattoos—Destiny felt a jolt of anguish rip up her arms; but its presence was quickly nullified by the shudder that gripped her shoulders caused by Saint’s destructive hands upon her stomach and his hips pressing forward against her. His blood was beginning to dry and form a tacky feeling against her back, which had begun to writhe against him. A sensation deep in the muscles of her back caused her to seize and jerk away from Saint’s body. Upon her shoulder blades, her skin broke open with a horrific tearing sound; a fresh sheen of blood marking Saint’s chest, though this time Destiny’s rather than his own. White feathers burst free and the air was riddled with the sound of shifting bones as a full set of angelic wings made their appearance. Freed from their prison, they flexed about the girl and her Saint, wrapping back against the male’s sides.
From either side, the response was silent. Saint’s hand rose to brush upon the bloody base of the nearly emerged wings; whereas Gideon looked awestruck upon Destiny… and his wings.
Destiny herself would recall little of the incident. Between her poor feeding schedule and the loss of blood she had experienced in that short period of time, the girl fainted dead away, slumping into Saint’s arms. His act of rescuing the girl was lost within the haze of that time period, for the next thing Destiny recalled was waking in bed, laying upon her stomach to accommodate the massive wings.