Devin

..touch me... take me... love me.. break me..
f o r c e m e

'|[ s u b m i s s i v e ]|'

D e v i n a e L y z e

when I ran, I didn't feel like a run-away,

when I escaped, I didn't feel like I got away.

there's more to living than only surviving,

maybe I'm not there, but I'm still trying.

. . . l e o p a r d a n t h r e s s . . .

.. You don't want to know
what it is I see whan I look
in the mirror. That bitter
reflection t a u n t i n g my
every thought and desire,
telling me time and again
of just how horribly I am
l y i n g to myself. You only
see what there is to see on
the outside, what I let you
see. Quiet, submissive little
me. But while what you see
i s what you get, I must
confess, you may not see
all that is there to be seen...

S i l e n t
D e c e i t

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I wrote some w o r d s   for   you   today, And   p u t     t h e m   i n   a   s o n g,
But the words have lost their meaning, And now t h e   m e l o d y   i s   g o n e.

The world is not lacking in sensational stories of past lives and events which have invariably led a person or being toward their present state. Be it tales of grandeur or persecution, none is without the flourishng anecdote or spectacle yarn to liven conversation or hold their   audience enraptured as they are regaled by the life circumstances of a particular person. And such a person will swear up one side of heaven and down the other side of hell that they do not exaggerate - that all stories and fictional phrasings are as true now as the day they truly occurred. Such brimming, adventurous lives are the envy of many, who listen for that singular taste of the surreal and the exotic, for the sense of alien and foreign presence achieved by living through such bar-stop stories. But of course, one would never outwardly admit that they lack such an animated back-ground themselves,   so story upon story continues to be spun unceasing, as each attempts to best the other in this game of fictonal falsity which no one ever dares to question; it simply isn't done. None need say it aloud - each and every one is familiar with the circumlocutious manner with which the game is to be played.

You ain�t   n o t h i n g   s p e c i a l. You�re no more celestial than anyone else.
As far as I can tell, C a l l   i t    m y t h o l o g y, we see what we want to see,
A n d       e v e r y o n e       w a n t s       t h e i r       d i s t a n t       d r e a m s.

Devinae had never been much for such idle passtimes, however. Either that, or she was one of the sparse few in all the world to have grown up with something approaching a normal life, or whatever it was the life of an anthress could be called. Her mother and father had both been the same, so the lack of any spliced or mingled genetics allowed for a softer, less agitated personality to foster in the femme felidae. Her sire had been a leopard, her mother the same, although of the snows. She had maintained her mother's ivorn fur and markings, but the paternal genetics allowed it to be short cropped in the stead of a thick, wintery pelt. Her tail was the only exception as it curved in serpentine fashion to its tip, where the threads of feather, velvet sur elongated the slightest bit, perhaps in like to a persian. And as with both her parents, her shifts were more varied than was common. The most simple and natural, which expended the least energy in achievement, was that of the full feline. As such, she tended to be on the slight side in comparison to most of the great cats, but lithely toned muscula-ture was not to be underestimated. The next up was that of the anthress, bipedal but short-cropped by fur with ears, tail, fangs and claws. The next form was the same as prior, yet lacked fur.

Should I say I'm s o r r y for what I'm going to say? I guess it's way
beond me To sleep with yesterday. I want to see my future I want to
know m y p a s t The everlasting present, Is that so much to ask?

The final of the quad of possible shifts required the small gift of magery known as glamour. Involving a tentative expulsion of energy for as long as it was held, the self-created camouflage generated a fully mortal form, conceal-ing both from sight, and even the tactile sense of touch, the previous form's tail, ears, claws, and dainty ivorn fangs. Concentration was manditorily kept, and any disturbance to the same would invariably produce a flicker or "static" in the glamourous front. Dress was usually mildly conser-vative, kept to the darker colors to provide a simplistic contrast of poignant proportions to the pallid tendencies toward the rest of delicate features. Soft strands of baby-fine silk were a sheened white that was almost silver, coupled by a single streak of dark ink locks framing the left side of her face at the front. Depending on the circum-stances, she might use glamour t o hide that as well, although it was not often that it was necessary. While obviously unnatural and - simply put - inhuman, she rarely made attempts a t fully concealing h e r other self, o r attempting to play the mundane mortal. Her skin was her mother's - s o f t moonlight, a pale color that seemed inwardly gleaming instead of unhealthily translucent. But it was invariably her eye that caught startled attentions -palest glass hues of silver-grey, as colorless as ice ( if ice could even claim either color or hue ). Yet now and again, as though calling upon the myriad hues that an ashen prism could garner, they would obtain tints and blushes of true color from all ends of the spectrum. One could only guess at whether it was her own volition to cause the changes, or if duel pools of light acted as mood rings to the inner workings of u n s p o k e n, clandestine thoughts.

They say there's other vision, D e e p e r than the l i g h t. M a y b e t h e y ' r e j u s t v o i c e s C o m i n g f r o m m y m i n d.
A h u n d r e d m i l l i o n f a c e s, E n l i g h t e n e d or a f r a i d - What is going to s a v e u s From a l l u n c e r t a i n f a t e?

Devinae - or "Devin" as she usually referred to herself in a mild-mannered attempt at blending in - grew well beneath her mother's gentle nurturing and father's more stringent control, developing a somewhat coy personality that verged well upon playful, yet supressed and forced into a more submissive mannerism that might otherwise have ensued. Devin never lost that edge of teasing, however, nor of consistant contact - having been raised by her true parents, and thus greatly exposed to the feline tendencies, she had inherited a rather odd touch-based comfort necessity.

Does it make you wonder what's a t   t h e   e n d of outside?
I want to f e e l closer now to the s t a r s   i n   t h e   s k y...

Her parents finally nudged her out of the ephemeral "nest," and Devin embraced life with both arms flung wide. Possessed by a feline's innate curiosity and the mortal's gentle temperance of such urges, she ever sought her companionship through touch, nights on end spent nestled in the warm strength of masculine arms, wiling away the midnight hours. Most that grew to know her on sight rapsed off such titles as 'slut' and 'whore.' Apt, she supposed, but there was nothing   intentionally seductive in mote or action, voice or whim. She was subtle del-icacy at its best, rooted in a simple, exotic beauty that flourished with her continued   growth. She never lost the child's edge for games and play, never strayed from such idle fancies as were all-owed. Gypsy feet kept her ever on the move, and bar to bar, inn to inn, tavern to tavern, she cont-inued such idle meanderings without a care in the world either for the whispered words spoken be-hind cupped palms, or the disgusted glances thrown in her direction. Masculine insecurity, and feminine envy,   she supposed.   In either case, they were always outnumbered by he more approving glances.

Tell me, s w e e t l y, give me t h e l o v e of everyday, H u m a n n a t u r e - I d o n' t r e m e m b e r how to feel that way, Anyway..

Devin was a delight to all who knew her, and those few with whom she repeatedly turned. The anthress' conception of relationships was more closely associated to the Fey than humans. A loose morality that allowed what was, apparently, casual sex between friends. To most it was a horror, but to some she was simply herself. It was not without difficulty, attempting to survive with duel, diverging opinions of her from those around, and at times she was led to dubiously question her upbringing and parents. But the few that stood by her - Rei and Alecksi, among others - did so fervently, and many a night she simply turned up on their doorstep, in quiet askance of simple comfort. No touch, no sex, no teasing.. just curling in their arms and quietly wishing away the night, pet and soothed by one who she could trust enought to care. For trust was a fickle thing with Devin - something to be avoided on the simple pretense that it was a weapon. Trust was something that could turn like a dog gone rabid on its beholder.

Dropped   inside the ocean, Covered by
the sands of time, Walk me through the
seasons Of    e v e r y    s i n g l e    l i f e.

Times came and times went, and it was not soonafter that both Rei and Aleksi moved on. The root of the fact never dimmed the gleam to vivacious   pools, n o r   took   the cheshire   s p i r i t   from curving sanguines, but there came times in the night's velvet embrace when the silence ate at her core. When everything b o i l e d d o w n to a s t i l l ness d e e p e r and   more permanent than death, which day by day carved its bitter niche ever further into her soul, coaxing that bubbling    sweetness,   ounce   by ounce, to go tepid, and turn sour.

A d a r k n e s s grows inside me, In fading s h a d e s o f g r a y. All the c o l o r s of the world are s l o w l y s u c k e d a w a y.
I'm sinking ever d e e pe r, To a place that's c o l d and b l a c k. I can't believe I've lost you and you're n e v e r c o m i n g b a c k.

The change from monotony came on a usual night, or as far as nights went there was nothing to distinguish it from any other. The Inn was ordinary, the crowd pleasant as it began the steady decline into that pristine world of color and shape, where every man is the catch of the millenium, and every female the incarnate wet dream. She had ordered her 'usual' (|[ Kamikaze shots, heavy on the Cointreau ]|), and taken a seat at the bar when she was noted by a mercenary she had joined at the bar. Taking the notice as invitation ( as always ) her idle meanderings and words were met by their equal teasing and play, finally resorting to the man's upstairs room of rent for the eve.

..Can you tell me what life is worth
living, when everything that used
to make me smile is withering a w a y?