Fan Fiction ❯ Daughter of Venus - the Vampire Rosaline ❯ Moonlight dance ( Chapter 6 )

6

Staring at myself I thought about the latest dream:

Sheets covered me.

"My bed?" I asked.

My bed.

That voice again.

"You!" I hissed.

Our bed.

The other voice.

"And you!"

Hands. They pulled at me.

Join me.

"No!" I struggled.

Join us, the voice called.

"Who are you?" I asked

Drink it, the voice commanded.

"Drink what?" I questioned.

Drink it, the voice echoed.

"Drink what?" I repeated.

My blood.

Blood surrounded me.

Our blood.

Grinning I stared at the apparition beaming back at me. The one thing I cannot live without is my mirror. I am a Libran you see. `Daughter of Venus' is what Armand calls me. For the uninitiated to the mystic world of horoscopes and stars signs Libra is the scales and the symbol of the planet Venus. As all good students should know Venus was the Roman goddess of all things beautiful and so her children (the Librans) adore all things beautiful. I myself had no greater joy than decorating the most beautiful of God's creations, the human body. Armand was to come tonight, I knew it, I could feel it and so for him I would create a masterpiece. A well painted lady is just as beautiful as any artist's magnum opus.

I leaned, peering at my refection almost falling upon the silver plating as if it were a rippling pool. Gently I dabbed the soft, powder puff across my skin, the former an apparatus hardly used anymore but essential to priming my canvas. I pulled back giggling…I looked as pale as Armand and would look even chalkier once I had finished my display.

"Um…eyes…"

What had I been told about eyes? Something about them going all dark and droopy…okay that might have been for something else, maybe I would just use some mascara.

"…And lips?"

Ah yes lips, I loved using dark lipstick and I definitely remembered being told the darker and redder they were the more arousing they became. A film had just been released about the girls of a peep show, Moulin Rouge - Red Windmill, bit a silly name I thought but despite that I admired them. I admired their gall, the way they were so dedicated to entering their guests but would never cross the line…and their costumes, so vibrant and overdone - theirs were the kind of lips I wanted. Despite my adoration and willingness I knew I could never have been as brave them, despite it all.

Eventually I stepped back staring at the bloodless face in the mirror with its outlined eyes and blooming, rose red lips. My hair dangled down, past my waist in two slender plats. Growling I scooped them up and wreathed them around my head into a complicated hairdo resembling the sculptures of the idle ancient Rome, the fantastic faery tales of the Middle Ages or the innocent stained-glass angels of the sinister gothic cathedrals. I wanted to be an angel, I wanted to be pure, I wanted to be protected, I wanted to be worshipped and most of all I wanted to be desired by all but touched by none. I wanted to be so many things I knew this life could not provide me. I just had to grin and bear it - easy for them to say.

Who am I? How could I ever possibly answer my questions about Armand I had set if all week I could not even understand myself?

Maybe I should start by analysing my need to dress up. Well it was to be noticed obviously…but in what way?

It had been a great shock to the system - my mother falling so ill so quickly. Just a few months ago I had two people's undivided attention and now I struggled for half. Oh, you are just being selfish, I would tell myself; she needs it more than you do. Ah but I had Armand! A miracle sent to me so that I might not endure the cold nights on my own. Many girls in my class bragged about having boyfriends and it seemed to be that men were the `in' accessories. One girl had swapped and juggled ten boys before the holiday, only to be found out by one who had tattled to the rest - served her right, there were some who could not sustain a simple relationship in their entire life and she managed to dispose of all her ten. Other girls took owning a beau to a new level of passion that was only ever witnessed by my circle of friends on the cinema screen.

"We've reached third base!" One girl would cry ecstatically as though it were a forbidden computer game. I did not know what level three was so I was not that surprised - I did not know much about sex, just what I was taught in Biology. Some giggled and nattered that they would skip such a vulgar stage and move straight onto four but for me what was four in comparison to three?

My group of friends each confided in me that they could not understand how those other girls acquired so many admirers. As far as we could see they were not the ripest apples in the basket compared to our own Granny Smiths - but then we could have been biased. I said they must flaunt themselves for if my companions would like to observe the boys they acquired were also not of the state of divinity such wonders as ourselves should deserve. Such complex tones about simple matters sometimes distressed us but I had to believe it. If I did not the others surely would give in to induced passion. We were the lucky ones, the stronger ones as we could stand to wait our turns. Anyway boys just got in the way of schoolwork. HA!

One girl offered up that I was proud of being a virgin, and yes I was glad to state that I was. Well is it not better to give your precious gift of innocents to your one true love than lose it with some unknown idiot in a dingy linen closet? I was the unsung pop star, one of those girls who sang songs of misspent summers, adorned in skimpy bikinis but yet pledged to her fanatics that she would stay chaste until she lead to the altar her football playing paramour. I wondered whether it was all true or just a show to appease the concerned guardians. And of course there were the dangerous few who cared not for elder concerns, who relied on the sexual desires of their worshippers for their success and security such as that eighties showman Lestat. But who was more dangerous, those who told no lies or those who told no truths?

Was it possible? Of course - I was sure there was a Ying out there to match my Yang who was contemplating the very same thoughts at the very same moment. The age of romance was not dead as long as I was alive to fuel the fire.

I danced dizzily to the open door. The nights were getting warmer and so I had swapped my pyjamas for a flowing red nightie. Oh, nobody was meant to see. What you wear to bed is just an extension of who you are, whether it is a lacy G-string or a scruffy T-shirt. I lie. This time I meant someone to see…

"Armand!" I cried excitedly as I saw him navigate the tangled path with a poise almost cat-like motion.

I had been right! My gut feeling had won through…well I would have looked a fool if it had not.

"Il mio amore!" He cried with a tinge of shock as he saw me dangling from the window.

I bounded round to meet him on the grass; "I knew you would come!"

He smiled, "And I knew that you would be waiting for me."

He joked, "Perhaps we have a link?"

He stroked my check thoughtfully, caressing the layer of powder, staring at my new form, "So soft and pale…"

"I put it on for you," I said innocently referring to the make-up even though by now his eyes were wandering, "is it too much?"

"No," he said tenderly, "it is…you are perfect."

We stood for a moment, the moon reflecting off our skin making my face burn with a white flame pierced with a searing, red brand. Armand now seemed to glow. What people would call a sickly pale by day became a fitting radiance by night.

"You look even more beautiful," he whispered, "placid beauty suits you. Maybe one day all men such as I will share pleasure in your wan magnificence."

I looked down, blushing deeply, wondering if the red would bleed through my painted expression, "I wish other people would speak so warmly of me."

"Ah! Then they do not deserve you!" he hissed erotically, "You are not like those sluts who stay out passed their curfew."

"And you have met many?" I pouted playfully.

"When you wander it is hard not to observe them lingering on street corners but their blood is laced with cigarette ash and bitter fumes."

"You've tasted many?" I teased.

"Oh no," he said hurriedly stroking my naked shoulder, "you can tell from their auras, tainted with a dishonour, which turns them black and feeble - not worth the passion. But you…" He moved his face closer to me, pushing his nose into my neck. His warm breath made my skin tingle and I shuddered with a warm excitement, "…forbidden fruit is always so much sweeter. You are like a fine wine…the longer I wait…the more beautiful you will taste…"

Such double-sided metaphors only made it easier for me to surrender as his voice intoxicated my head. We had never been this intimate before but yet tonight he hid no craving. It was overwhelming and I rocked gently as I fell into what should have been a faint. Instead he caught me, leering over.

"Shall we dance?" He inquired amorously.

I stared at him dazed, my lips merely mimicking the question, "Pardon?"

"Well…" he said as though I should have known better, "`Dancing in the Moonlight'?"

I smiled as the blood rushed to my head and back again when he yanked me up, upon his shoulders. I was going to fall but he held me firm so instead I rested my head upon his chest.

"We shall start with a gentle waltz," he ordered, trying to gaze into my eyes.

"I'm not that good," I confessed, giggling childishly as he struggled to bring my limp arm around his neck.

"That's all right," he whispered, leaning closer to my ear, "I will weave the magic."

We started, unsteadily at first as I clumsily tripped over every command he instructed, finally though it became all too easy as we floated across the grass. Hazily my head wobbled as we darted gracefully over the lawn but still Armand kept his mouth by my ear uttering enchanting incantations, relaxing any thoughts of mislaid hands. It was as if he knew my boundaries and though he would tempt and teeter he would never cross the line. Even when his petal like lips fell to behind my ear and I allowed him to caress my neck with wandering kisses he did not move any further.

We must have danced for hours but yet whilst I was in Armand's arms time, like for all lovers stood still. Finally though, like all great moments the scene had to be brought to an end and with tremendous style Armand realised this the earliest.

We drew to a halt, standing directly under the great mirror ball moon with Armand adding gently, calling me back from my comma, "Rosaline."

He waited for my dull eyelids to slowly flutter open like a humming bird's wing before continuing, "I think someone's calling you."

"You are!" I giggled with drunken ecstasy, not troubling to concentrate.

"No," he persisted.

I pouted and struggled to focus.

"I think it is your father," Armand suggested.

"Oh well then," I yanked at his shirt spirited, "let's have another dance."

He pushed my fragile hands away from his chest, laughing inquisitively; "Don't you think you should see what he wants?"

"Oh I know what he wants," I cried tipping my head back, "alcohol! He wants me to go out in the middle of the night and get him another bottle of whisky as he has accidentally poured it over the bed."

I pulled at him again; "Well I want to dance."

Armand frowned, trying to obtain a serious answer, "He wouldn't?"

I immediately released my grip, locked my eyes and fell back knowing he would catch me crying ridiculously, "What Homo wants Homo gets."

He pushed his fist into my back so that I stood again. He then gripped one of my shoulders tilting my chin so that I gazed up at verdant eyes, glittering in the starlight, "Do you really believe he would let you wander the night alone, for a mere drink?"

He paused, considering a way of expressing his fears without giving away his own intentions; "There are dangerous people about."

I winked, "You'll look after me."

Still continuing his spate of seriousness he insisted, "I will talk to him."

"No!"

Those five syllables were enough to abolish any sense of well being and replaced it with utter dismay, "He doesn't know about you! Nobody knows about you! You're mine! Nobody is to know about you!"

I seized his hand, shuddering for a moment, as the latter was icy cold. Breathing deeply I searched within myself, trying to find some form bravery, finally resorting to look upon him with entreating eyes, "If he knew you were here I would never be able to see you again…you are Romeo and I am Juliet."

He looked down and murmured sullenly, "Then you must go inside…" adding, "your pilgrim will return tomorrow."

"I don't think I can wait that long!" I cried desperately.

"I will come back tomorrow," he said with astonishment at my doubt, "you are for me…I cannot leave you when you are obviously in pain."

Pouting I stared at him as a final attempt at winning him over.

"Ah," he beamed. Bending slightly he kissed me on the forehead, filling me with the same tingling warmth I felt the first time he touched my bear skin.

As my head still danced he led me to the door, "Don't stay up too late."

I faltered as he headed into the overgrowth, not sure what to do next. Suddenly he turned back towards the house with what seemed to be a childish impulse, "All right then!"

Sweeping me off my feet he sighed, "Which way to your room?"

Giggling me playfully I cried giddily, pointing in the direction of the kitchen. I felt the air coldly caress my cheek as I settled into his sturdy cradle. Smiling lazily I looked at his porcelain features. Slowly my head began to nod and I buried it into his shoulder as I felt him rock slowly, blissfully unaware of the house around us.