“ I remember it as though it was like awakening from a peaceful slumber. As though the fire and destruction that dominated my nightmares were instead swept away by the memories of my childhood. Vague now, as if an old part of me was being washed away only to leave the remnants of soft comforting smiles from my mother, a dampened taste of the unquenchable affection that only a parent can give.
The Nightmares. I remember at first how I could barely stomach them as I resisted. The times of dark oblivion, where I was surrounded by nothingness. Hovering above a shadowed surface, inkling black waters floating in space, a bottomless lake stretching endlessly. I would always find myself drawn closer to the surface, waiting to see the reflection that would never come. It always ended up the same, the tendrils of inky water stretching up and seizing me.
I always struggled, it was basic Human instinct after all. Yet the tendrils always held fast to my arms and legs and then the single coil that tightened around my throat, cutting off my breath. It was all a dream after all, yet the perceptions represented the truth. It was always a battle of the wits and I had been ensnared by that deep presence that lurked beneath the black tides. A prisoner that futility struggled against being drawn in.
A maelstrom forms beneath me, my untrained body weak against the monstrous strength that held me in check. It could be seen as impossible, but amidst the whirling vortex in the waters there lurked an event darker shade of black and the soft symphony that dwelled within.
It was always the music that bothered me the most. At first, that is. The crescendo of voices that sent a chill down my spine but also softened my heart and assaulted my ears. The unpronounceable lyrics searing harshly at my very soul as I was drawn closer. The whispers of song always growing more eager, more violent as they became more distinct, smothering my senses.
As I am drawn into the song swirling vortex, a funnel rises from its depths to meet me. The whirling waters muffled as a figure emerges from the center pillar of liquid. She was always beautiful, as perfect as any storyteller could weave. Luxurious black hair cascading down her back with two sleek, almost subtle horns jutting from her head. Her eyes were pools of crimson red and half-veiled, her lips full and seductive. She wore a silken gown that matched her hair, one so thin that it gave ample hint of the sleek form beneath.
Even in my situation, strung up like a ripe fruit for the taking. I felt compelled to wipe the liquid grime and sweat from my face and body, even if I could not. Aware that this woman, this idol, was the main antagonist of my dreams, the desire to kneel at her slim, sandaled feet, so charismatic was this creature.
She never speaks a word as the tendrils that bind me draw me closer to her. She never needed to as a delicate hand rises up, the pools of crimson never leaving my own and the gentle caress of my cheek speaking a thousand promises.
At first I would always beg to be released, to awaken from that dream that would never end, I couldn't deny however that with each passing night grew the temptations of surrender. Of giving my all over to this beckoning Mistress, mind, body and soul. That there mere thought of this graceful entity spending even a fraction of a second with her alluring figure on my simple mortal shell condemned me to the future untold blessings that could be bestowed if I were to simply give in to my 'true' calling.
The touch would be brief, almost sudden like it never happened. Yet it would leave a sense of longing to it, knowing that if I just submitted and delved into that other half of me locked away before the surface that I would be able to participate in that bitter-sweet symphony of discord.
Temptation. The lure of having others at my beck and call, to use my natural and supernatural gifts of alluring others. I reign dominant over those I would command through subtly and control of the senses. Warping the minds and keeping their guards low through methods of confusion and to cozy up to whoever does feel themselves worthy to stand next to me.
I wasn't worried towards the end, when the Dreams, not nightmares grew heavier. As I could feel a spark of excitement as I willingly and eagerly began to approach the dark waters. Even welcoming the tendrils, the inkling streams sensing my desires as they gently pulled me closer to the maelstrom that used to be my prison.
When I was met at the center, instead of my Mistress. I was met with an image of myself. It was as if looking into a mirror that had been masked with a sheet for so many years. Finally seeing myself for not who I was, for but what I was.
I was beautiful and I knew it. Watching my reflection approach me with a sultry gait and sway of my hips, reaching out to caress my own suspended form. It was then that I realized those bindings that held me were no longer there and that... I in turn, was smiling back to myself.
I could have the world as my playthings if I strived hard enough to debase and form them to my will, even if they at the time would not know my plans. Why would I deny myself, just another pretty face amongst the crowd, such a splendid endeavor.
So I reached out and mirrored my dark visage. I knew at that moment, that I was complete. I would never regret the choice. I would no longer be weak. “
- Vivian Shadechild, an excerpt from her own personal Diary.
The Nightmares. I remember at first how I could barely stomach them as I resisted. The times of dark oblivion, where I was surrounded by nothingness. Hovering above a shadowed surface, inkling black waters floating in space, a bottomless lake stretching endlessly. I would always find myself drawn closer to the surface, waiting to see the reflection that would never come. It always ended up the same, the tendrils of inky water stretching up and seizing me.
I always struggled, it was basic Human instinct after all. Yet the tendrils always held fast to my arms and legs and then the single coil that tightened around my throat, cutting off my breath. It was all a dream after all, yet the perceptions represented the truth. It was always a battle of the wits and I had been ensnared by that deep presence that lurked beneath the black tides. A prisoner that futility struggled against being drawn in.
A maelstrom forms beneath me, my untrained body weak against the monstrous strength that held me in check. It could be seen as impossible, but amidst the whirling vortex in the waters there lurked an event darker shade of black and the soft symphony that dwelled within.
It was always the music that bothered me the most. At first, that is. The crescendo of voices that sent a chill down my spine but also softened my heart and assaulted my ears. The unpronounceable lyrics searing harshly at my very soul as I was drawn closer. The whispers of song always growing more eager, more violent as they became more distinct, smothering my senses.
As I am drawn into the song swirling vortex, a funnel rises from its depths to meet me. The whirling waters muffled as a figure emerges from the center pillar of liquid. She was always beautiful, as perfect as any storyteller could weave. Luxurious black hair cascading down her back with two sleek, almost subtle horns jutting from her head. Her eyes were pools of crimson red and half-veiled, her lips full and seductive. She wore a silken gown that matched her hair, one so thin that it gave ample hint of the sleek form beneath.
Even in my situation, strung up like a ripe fruit for the taking. I felt compelled to wipe the liquid grime and sweat from my face and body, even if I could not. Aware that this woman, this idol, was the main antagonist of my dreams, the desire to kneel at her slim, sandaled feet, so charismatic was this creature.
She never speaks a word as the tendrils that bind me draw me closer to her. She never needed to as a delicate hand rises up, the pools of crimson never leaving my own and the gentle caress of my cheek speaking a thousand promises.
At first I would always beg to be released, to awaken from that dream that would never end, I couldn't deny however that with each passing night grew the temptations of surrender. Of giving my all over to this beckoning Mistress, mind, body and soul. That there mere thought of this graceful entity spending even a fraction of a second with her alluring figure on my simple mortal shell condemned me to the future untold blessings that could be bestowed if I were to simply give in to my 'true' calling.
The touch would be brief, almost sudden like it never happened. Yet it would leave a sense of longing to it, knowing that if I just submitted and delved into that other half of me locked away before the surface that I would be able to participate in that bitter-sweet symphony of discord.
Temptation. The lure of having others at my beck and call, to use my natural and supernatural gifts of alluring others. I reign dominant over those I would command through subtly and control of the senses. Warping the minds and keeping their guards low through methods of confusion and to cozy up to whoever does feel themselves worthy to stand next to me.
I wasn't worried towards the end, when the Dreams, not nightmares grew heavier. As I could feel a spark of excitement as I willingly and eagerly began to approach the dark waters. Even welcoming the tendrils, the inkling streams sensing my desires as they gently pulled me closer to the maelstrom that used to be my prison.
When I was met at the center, instead of my Mistress. I was met with an image of myself. It was as if looking into a mirror that had been masked with a sheet for so many years. Finally seeing myself for not who I was, for but what I was.
I was beautiful and I knew it. Watching my reflection approach me with a sultry gait and sway of my hips, reaching out to caress my own suspended form. It was then that I realized those bindings that held me were no longer there and that... I in turn, was smiling back to myself.
I could have the world as my playthings if I strived hard enough to debase and form them to my will, even if they at the time would not know my plans. Why would I deny myself, just another pretty face amongst the crowd, such a splendid endeavor.
So I reached out and mirrored my dark visage. I knew at that moment, that I was complete. I would never regret the choice. I would no longer be weak. “
- Vivian Shadechild, an excerpt from her own personal Diary.
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