mortisfive

Alicard reached his hand up and opened a large antique chest. His fingers caught themselves on the necks of two large wine glasses. He brought them down out of the cabinet, hearing their glass clank against one another. He set them down gently, then turned around and eyed the stove. The contents that filled the plates on the kitchen counter seemed extravagant and expensive. You could almost taste them by the way they smelt.
He picked up the wine glasses with a sigh and walked across the kitchen�s mexican tiles into the large dining room. The table was average size, though a large window stretched across the far wall. Red velveteen curtains hung stiffly, becoming the eyelashes to the pupils of the stars. The moon peeked out from behind the glass and blew it�s dust around.
Alicard looked up and watched as all the candles dimed and lit back up rythmically. He placed the two glasses down, but soon stopped and became absorbed in his thoughts. The light reflected off of the cups, small orbs of loving wicks exploding before him.
He thought of her, and even longed for her. He shifted tightly, then turned and headed back to the kitchen, grabbing hold of the two steaming plates. His fingers situated themselves in places where he woud sure not to burn him. After carrying them to the dining table, he sat down in one of the comfortably cushioned seats.
The night had caught up to him, and he frowned. He leaned up and grabbed the bottle of wine, and his glass. After pouring himself a healthy amount, he leaned back into the velvet pillows. As he sipped generously, he let his fingers flow under the edge of the fringe hanging from the chair.
A soft thumping followed, though he ignored it and did not look up. Finally, after the noise had been silenced for quite some time, he raised his head and took in what he saw. Catrina stood in the doorway, her hip shifted to the side in a way that hugged her curves tighter than ever. Her hair fell in lucious waves and dipped slightly past her shoulders.
Alicard found his eyes traveling down her body. Her breasts seemed to bounce gently each time she breathed, for by her appearance she was nervous. The slit that ran its way up to the beginning of her thigh taunted him and kissed his manhood seductively. Her structure leaned against the doorway, a few stray hairs settling themselves over her eyes. Her lashes curled upward and her gray eyes seemed dulled to an exciting point.
The high heel sandals that were situated on her feet seemed to not have been made for his mother, but for her. He couldn't remember if his mother had quite filled the dress the way she did. He couldn't stand looking at her anymore, for it left a tempting scent flowing into him. He turned and put the rim of the glass inbetween his lips and stiffly swallowed. She lifted her temple off of the door frame and walked over to her seat and sat down.
As Catrina ate he could notice the way she leaned into the table, barely smashing herself. He let his vision study his half empty plate, with it's food only pushed around and hardly thought of. He let his fork drop down with a soft clang, then crumbled his napkin and threw it over his food. He leaned back, and again rested his heals on the table top. He held his wine glass and became lost in its bitter smell.
Catrina put down her fork and knife as well, for she herself had to admit she couldn't concentrate on her food. She pushed the plate away and rested her elbows on the table. Gently, she placed her chin in her hands and stared out of the large window. She could see herself vaguely in the gateway to the outside, but then she could see a garden. Or atleast that's what she figured it was. She could hardly tell by just the outlines and darkened colors. It seemed... dead.
She cleared her throat softly, and then looked at him as he looked up at her, "How old is this house?"
His reply was a soft shrug at first, then he continued on, "I'm not sure. I know it was built long before my father was born, so I'm considering the late 1800's, early 1900's."
Catrina ran her fingers over the stem on the wine glass cooly, "Its very beautiful..." Her eyes fell fom his slowly and she watched the window again. "So," she ventured on, her voice lowering for an unknown reason, "you live here alone?"
He nodded silently, still not wanting to look at her. He set his glass down and started to get up, only to find her stand up also. She stood only a foot away from him, and in the candle's light he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Catrina held the edge of her plate and stood up, almost being knocked down for Alicard had done the same thing.
She almost cursed at him, but before she did she looked up at him and her facial expressions were washed away. His body wasn't even a full step away. Her fingers came close to letting go of the dish, but she found her strength and held it tightly. He moved his face away slightly and was about to step away, when Cat moved a little further. They were touching now, her arm hardly brushing against his. She leaned into his cheek and breathed against the skin with warm and moist breathes.
He turned his face back toward hers once more, her lips delicately caressing the skin right next to his mouth. She pulled her face back slowly, letting herself pull away from his skin. She blew warm air against his lips. Alicard dropped his plate against the floor and slid his hand onto her neck, leaning in. Suddenly his body functioned by itself without him being able to stop his actions. He reached back and grabbed her by a lock of hair and tugged forcefully.
Catrina fell backwards into her chair and stared up at him. She could see the look on his face was not one that was pleased. She bit the tip of her tongue and sang regretful praises in her head. She cupped her feelings and hid them behind her dull eyes. The broken plate smashed against the floor was now only patterned glass that was sent ino a pile of uneaten food.
Alicard looked down at the plate then shrugged it off mentally and grabbed her by her arm without any feeling. His hands griped a her skin, pinching at the veins and blood vessels inside her flesh. He pulled her up out of the chair and stalked out of the dining hall, dragging her close behind him.
Her feet tripped up on every other step, as though in some sorta of horrid dance. He stepped into one of the mansion's many hallways and pressed her up against one of the walls. The crown of her head cracked back against a framed portrait and she groaned, feeling the scab under her hair being ripped from the skin.
He leaned into her face and bit her lip hard, and she could feel blood surfacing and twirling in her spit. In disgust she thrashed her head around, trying desperately for him to go away. He only pushed her back and kissed her firmly. His lips were cold and like stone. They were too firm to return a kiss to. He cupped one of her breasts through her dress and squeezed with a force that made her almost scream. She began lifting her leg to kick him, but he stepped down against her toes.
The pounding on her head subsided and all she could feel was the roughness and the regret. Finally it stopped, though. Her sleeve was torn and her lips felt like they were bleeding inwardly. She reached up with a shakey hand and wiped at her flooded cheek. Her shakey hand brushed off her makeup that had just been applied only a while earlier. He grabbed her wrist and slammed it back into the wall, her knuckles cracking slightly.
He leaned forward and slapped her across her cheek. The skin felt detached and it seemed to slide off her skull. He stared into her tear filled eyes, a spark dancing deeply in his iris. As he walked away, his strong back turned toward her, she slid down the wall and collapsed into sobs.