Who is Charlotte? She is a new character of mine in a Sabbat game. A Lasombra ghoul on the verge of being destroyed by one frigid wench of a potential sire, stolen by a true sire hoping to use her to learn more of Obtenebration without damning himself.
She is Italian-French, born in Queens early in the 20th century. Talented in crafting books and parchment, some needlepoint and tailoring. Gifted with languages. A keen mind at finance. And thoroughly despises anything social beyond what must be done.
This blog will follow her journey, perhaps other characters too.
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Fingers tapped ever so softly against the worn upholstery of a wing back chair. The nails were meticulously painted, scarlet hues with a touch of fuchsia in the their depths. The pale skin seemed ever more so as they rapped in time with a haunting melody thrumming through the air. Languidly did Charlotte settle, awaiting her meal. The perfect moment when thrashings became slowed, as water eddied from a retreating tide.
An ancient yet well tended turntable spun a reel from another age. The voice curled about her ears, tempting as the shadows that gathered and moved upon the floor before the chair.
~Heavenly shades of night are falling, It's twilight time...
Out of the mist your voice is calling, It's twilight time...~
A hand broke free, reaching so frantically for something, anything to grasp. Shadows coiled above the hand, as if contemplating the way the fingers bent and twisted in angles. Charlotte merely smiled thinking how strange it should wait.
~When purple colored curtains, Mark the end of the day
I hear you my dear at twilight time~
Mumbled cries tried with extreme effort to escape the smothering dark. It moved as a body under silken sheets, although these shadows were far from simple darkness cast from the lee of some tall structure. They lived, moved, glided as a lover.
"Hush now, I like this part." And so did the shadows fall upon the arm, dragging back within its folds. The chalked pentagram was far from perfect from the tumbling of limbs and hungry tentacles.
~Deepening shadows gather splendor, As day is done
Fingers of night will soon surrender, The setting sun
I count the moments darling, Till you're here with me
Together at last at twilight time~
Violins rose and fell, that velvet voice crooning in time to the girl's slow death. Twisting ever tighter, pulling in a most excruciating knot, did the shadowed thing she summoned take a final embrace of its dancing partner. Oh how the bones shattered, muscles tore, until the woman within became nothing more than marrow and pulp.
~Here in the after-glow of day, We keep our rendez-vous beneath the blue
Here in the sweet and same old way, I fall in love again as I did then~
Raising lazily a flute of fast cooling blood, Charlotte toasted the mass before her simple altar. A chair, her shoes, and those observing eyes of hers. "Ah cheers to you my friend."
~Deep in the dark your kiss will thrill me, Like days of old
Lighting the spark of love that fills me, With dreams untold
Each day I pray for evening just
To be with you~
Yet the shadows seemed to express a likewise interest, rising from their consumed prey. Slinking in a curling that left pieces of cleaned jutting bone in its wake. With a raised brow, she noted this, far different than other evenings.
Settling forward on the edge of her chair, did the kindred regard the creature. A true creation this time, not simply tendrils at her beck and call. Turning her head, so did it seem to turn. Whispering and cooing the ending of the song in time with the record, in devilish harmony to her.
"Together at last at twilight time."
Smiling wide, she rested her manicured fingers upon and within her creation, feeling the abyssal life within it. Success thrilled along her spine as it seemed to embrace and seek to capture that hand of hers, coiling ever stronger.
"Finally. And he said it could not be done. Dear sire, you will never doubt me again."
A slight twinge of pain registered in her eyes as the creation began to suckle and pull at a small wound inflicted upon her hand. Thinnest tendrils of blackness sought to join with her veins, inking her skin in a spidery tattoo from within.
Snarling her lip, she gauged how far to allow this development to roam. Was there something more to the shadow? Could every text she read had some small grain of truth within them? Finishing the flute of blood, she set it aside to slip and slither from her chair. The simply dress she wore gave little opportunity for movement, tight in its 40s flair about her knees if not her hips. And yes, the shadows did indeed seems willing to catch her, writhe and coax her to settle among them. Ever slowly they mummified her.
The record finished its turning, pin rising and moving to another tune of the past, as the Lasombra succumbed to her shadow, seeking the tantalizing whisper within them.
~ @ ~
Slithering tendrils pulled away as petals of a flower opening to the sun. Sections of silk and cotton revealed. What pale flesh could be seen ribboned with shadows, every vein infested with the creation of Charlotte's conjuring. Eyes flickering open seemed as pools of night, as if ink was poured into the sockets.
For long moments, she did not move. Only floated in the whispering existence of that shadowed plane that held her. What secrets curled about her mind held an opiate's touch.
"My dear Sebastian, some eve you must taste this." Her fingers jerked to life, clawing her from the cocoon of her sleeping. The movements were jerky, strange, bringing her on a journey across the room, into the library, and before a set of parchment.
With absolute care, she sought to control her fingers, hold them laced before her. It would not rule her mind, nor her flesh. To allow such was to become not only party to infernalist control, but to accept a defeat for eternity. Nodding as her eyes tilted and watched, thin tendrils of night slithered from the depths of her sleeves to pick up a fountain pen and carefully write a letter.
The control would improve. All in good time.
Journals updated, letters composed, she rose to continue into the night. The covens would be meeting. The eve was auspicious for such things with bright stars and no moon. Perfection for her desires. She would not only join them as a sister, but quietly offer something tantalizing to those that wished to learn more. To bend and drink from her goblet. To welcome the horrors of a shadow's ghouling.
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