Storytelling
Jan. 4th, 2002 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elionwyr"Cursed"
My finger still hurts.
Was that to be part of the Curse, I wonder? - To be left in this half-sleep, unable to move, still aware of emotion and stimulus?
Could she have been that cruel?
Perhaps if it was only my discomfort I could feel, perhaps that would be a condition I could grasp. But her hatred ran deeper than any sanity.
I have felt the hope, the fear and agony and death of those who tried to enter the palace. Brave men. Foolish boys. Fortune-hunters daring to find passage into my prison.
Her thorns know their job well.
In my mind, I picture their sides slick and permeated with blood - nothing green about them, nothing wholesome or natural. They must live off the flesh that decorates them. I
can hear their victims' bones moving in the wind, singing lost dreams to me.
One can only scream for so long.
I fear becoming like her. The darker feelings that inspired her whisper into my mind. I want to hate. I start to plan out revenges, only to recoil in horror at what I am considering.
I was born to be more than a creature of anger.
My parents' dreams ended the day the Sleep fell upon us. Sometimes I can still catch a hint of the scent of their deaths, when the breezes drift the wrong way through the room.
Fortunately, my eyes remain sealed shut - I am spared at least that sight. But for them, and for my Self, I will refuse to collapse into the madness that tries to seduce me.
She is strong.
I must be stronger.
I can feel something different. Something is changing outside - not the predictable moving of the seasons (I've lost track of how many times those shifts have passed around me), but...something subtle.
It smells like Spring.
But it sounds like Autumn.
I hear things falling - tiny crystals shattering on cobblestones, rotting fruit staining the ground, footsteps - could it be footsteps? - making their way across floors long held hostage by her Curse.
I wish I could see.
And the air feels warmer, as if the sun is finally making his way to the walls of my home.
And...
"Hello?"
It's a man's voice, a new voice, a sound with a life and a pulse and a will all its own.
"Beauty?"
Where does the name come from? I was never known as such.
"Princess, I'm here to break the spell."
I can't answer you. I don't understand you.
And now I can feel his lips on my mouth, softly brushing against me, then pulling away. There is a feeling of expectation radiating from him. But I can't feel any changes within me.
He's growling to himself, and kissing me again - more energy, more force. His hands are touching my gown, pressing at my breasts. He wants a response, and I want to move.
He's scaring me.
He is moving across my body, exploring me, claiming me. And I can only assume this is the final part of the Curse, the part that's been hidden from me all this time. The final cruelty. Because his weight is on me, he's moving inside me, he's crying out against me,
and still I am frozen, feeling all the humiliation and none of the pleasure, catching his climax, becoming his release.
And he is rising from me with no feeling of joy.
Dimly I hear him making promises to me - apologies and offers flow from his tongue as his semen flows from my body. But I know, stranger, that I won't hold you to anything you say.
I am cursed. I am sleeping. Nothing's changed.
My finger still hurts.
Was that to be part of the Curse, I wonder? - To be left in this half-sleep, unable to move, still aware of emotion and stimulus?
Could she have been that cruel?
Perhaps if it was only my discomfort I could feel, perhaps that would be a condition I could grasp. But her hatred ran deeper than any sanity.
I have felt the hope, the fear and agony and death of those who tried to enter the palace. Brave men. Foolish boys. Fortune-hunters daring to find passage into my prison.
Her thorns know their job well.
In my mind, I picture their sides slick and permeated with blood - nothing green about them, nothing wholesome or natural. They must live off the flesh that decorates them. I
can hear their victims' bones moving in the wind, singing lost dreams to me.
One can only scream for so long.
I fear becoming like her. The darker feelings that inspired her whisper into my mind. I want to hate. I start to plan out revenges, only to recoil in horror at what I am considering.
I was born to be more than a creature of anger.
My parents' dreams ended the day the Sleep fell upon us. Sometimes I can still catch a hint of the scent of their deaths, when the breezes drift the wrong way through the room.
Fortunately, my eyes remain sealed shut - I am spared at least that sight. But for them, and for my Self, I will refuse to collapse into the madness that tries to seduce me.
She is strong.
I must be stronger.
I can feel something different. Something is changing outside - not the predictable moving of the seasons (I've lost track of how many times those shifts have passed around me), but...something subtle.
It smells like Spring.
But it sounds like Autumn.
I hear things falling - tiny crystals shattering on cobblestones, rotting fruit staining the ground, footsteps - could it be footsteps? - making their way across floors long held hostage by her Curse.
I wish I could see.
And the air feels warmer, as if the sun is finally making his way to the walls of my home.
And...
"Hello?"
It's a man's voice, a new voice, a sound with a life and a pulse and a will all its own.
"Beauty?"
Where does the name come from? I was never known as such.
"Princess, I'm here to break the spell."
I can't answer you. I don't understand you.
And now I can feel his lips on my mouth, softly brushing against me, then pulling away. There is a feeling of expectation radiating from him. But I can't feel any changes within me.
He's growling to himself, and kissing me again - more energy, more force. His hands are touching my gown, pressing at my breasts. He wants a response, and I want to move.
He's scaring me.
He is moving across my body, exploring me, claiming me. And I can only assume this is the final part of the Curse, the part that's been hidden from me all this time. The final cruelty. Because his weight is on me, he's moving inside me, he's crying out against me,
and still I am frozen, feeling all the humiliation and none of the pleasure, catching his climax, becoming his release.
And he is rising from me with no feeling of joy.
Dimly I hear him making promises to me - apologies and offers flow from his tongue as his semen flows from my body. But I know, stranger, that I won't hold you to anything you say.
I am cursed. I am sleeping. Nothing's changed.