Bound Heart of Shorn Whispers (abyssal)

((Written by Lori))

"What is your name?"

Eyes closed, she prepared for the long discussion. But as soon as the lids sealed shut, the vision returned of eyes opening, seeing the city from above. She gasped not, being far to aware of this continued annoyance. "Lorean Cashen."

"And how long have you been having this...problem?"

She wanted to chuckle darkly, gutteral and strange. Sighing, she rubbed her temples. "Weeks...Months...I just can't concentrate." Once again, she wondered why, why she believed Fremont and his wild schemes. How could speaking to this hoodoo holy man help her understand this problem. If only he had given her the money for the Laudnum, none of this would be important. The drug took the pain away. All of it away. But his strange need for her, his...love as he called it, drew him to her aid. But the thought of his sweaty body invading hers and the continual gifts only proved her worst fear. She was a whore.

"Tell me what happens when this problem strikes."

She invisioned the speaker to be wizened and leacherous, disgusting and lustful, watching her breath with a rapt need in his loins. The image was a caricature of the truth. Yet, part of her believed it. "I see or feel things. When I close my eyes, it is as if my imagination runs farther and faster than it should. It is worse when I sleep. I see myself in Nexus, above it, leaping and jumping to watch others through their windows--"

The vision returned of the man sitting not far from her. Rubbing himself. Reaching some terrible climax as he fondled her with his eyes. Sighing, she turned to look at him and saw a double image of rot and the sweet face of the man sincerely trying to help her. She closed her eyes and tried to start breathing again from holding it so abruptly.

"Perhaps, you need air. Or rest. I see this often. Work can become so tiresome, so tedious, that our minds tend to seek fantasies. PErhaps you simply need true rest, no work, and some medicines to soothe the mind. I have a drink you can have, a mixture to add to your tea." His voice droned on, but Lorean did not listen. What was happening was no figment. Yet, she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Or maybe start a hobby."

That caught her attention for some reason. "Hobby?"

He brightened. "Oh yes, like dancing or singing. Perhaps pottery or gardening. I have some friends down in the Merchant's district that could always use a bit of aid in such things. You seek them out, talk to them, and try to find something you might like. Something to take your mind from these fantasies to reality."

He asked for his money and sent her on her way. Sniffing the powder, she realized it was worthless. Chuckling, she knew she been taken for a ride. Yet, something remained with her. "A hobby. That doesn't sound...so bad."

* * *

Hands graceful and tested, she played the keys of ivory and black. Music spilled forth as she swayed to the trilling. Gentlemen and ladies floated over the wooden floor in time to her melodies. Languid eyes half-lidded, she almost felt as if her body could touch them. The notes...the sound...reaching between the folds of silk to the flesh within. To feel the bated breath and flushed flesh. The heat. It filled her with a greater drive to play. The notes became a cascade. None could leave the web of her spell.

But soon...the notes trilled away. And she stood for a break while the harpest played. She always felt chided taking a moment away while another muscian played for the assembled nobles and their wives. But she was paid not to care but to entertain. And judging by the looks of the gentlemen old and eager for something new, they would want her for their own desires.

Shuddering, she left to a side door...and out into the night air. Servants moved past Lorean as she suffered a moment alone with her thoughts. She needed to return to her garden. Ever since she started growing the blossoms, they had consumed her life. Lush, vibrant, red. Her favorite color. And with tender care, she had found such a palette of reds...from the first blush of youth to the morbid end of a dying whore under moonlight. The roses. They needed her, her blood and tears fed them. Her body birthed them. They would outlast her.

But without money, without jade, she could not support their continued existence. But soon, she smiled smelling the flower she plucked from her hair, soon they would be sold to others. And the garden would gain new captives.

Looking over the city of Nexus she could only muse how long she had before she bled herself dry. The thorns had buried deep into her breast. And the visions...now they became a trapped thing. For with every puncture, they brought pleasure. With every drop, she controlled them. Or perhaps, she was simply light-headed.

Gathering her strength, she prepared to return...and saw a most terrrible thing. An old woman, returning to her home, fell to a slow death. No one marked her passing but Lorean. No one would notice the small form in huddled rags by the rain barrels. No one...but her.

* * *

It began that night with the old woman. Her blood was thick...rich...perfect for the bulbs. It did not take long for her to begin seeking those close to death. Those forgotten. And now, the blooms were three times as large as they normally were. The shades of red..deeper...wider...amazing.

She grew flesh of her own design. From time to time, she still bled into the earth. But these blossoms, of the city, were a true testement of Nexus.

She would live forever.

"Why thank you, Lady Savron! Oh my, such a lovely locket. You did not need to bring me this wonderful treasure!" Lorean awed and admired the golden locket on a shining thin chain. The beveled cover was etched in roses and lilies. So pretty and dainty.

"Without your blossoms, my costume at the ball would not have outshown the others as it did. Please, it is a trifle of my good will! You deserve it for the amazing boquet I wore, "she leans in conspiratorially, "and the snaring of Jocob Grasier." They chuckled and smiled.

"Oh course...and please, take this carnation as a token of my affection." Lorean took a strangely colored carnation, easily the size of a lady's hand. The colors began in shades of pink dawn and ended in sunny midday yellow. The lady swooned and accepted the flower pinned to her dress. She motioned for her seneschal to leave more jade and floated out of the small garden store.

Lorean closed the blinds, deciding to take the rest of the afternoon off for herself. Closing her eyes of darkest night, she drew a deep breath. The enchanting mix of flowers overwhelmed her senses. Of them all, she had added many new varieties. And the store was a smashing success in the small merchants section for gardening and produce. Her success brought income to others in the usually ignored area.

Holding up the locket, she smiled darkly. Every desire was hers. Every need and want. What else was there? And her roses...they had only grown in beauty, becoming such dark creations. Leaving to her greenhouse, she looked over her apprentices. Young children. Ripe. Fattened and loved from the firewarder district. Their lives had been smalll and terrible. Now...they lived in luxury and learned with the lady. Although from time to time, they still seemed to feel the pains of weakness. But she assured them drinking the special tea and eating better meals would help.

And after their tea, she drained them of their precious blood. Never too much. No, she learned how best to deal with that. And getting rid of bodies in the mulch was not so difficult a thing. She moved about the children, giving them advice, offering them smiles. In a strange way, they loved and feared the woman. Always she seemed to watch them...with need...with hunger.

* * *

Shadows could not hold the true darkness any longer. She moved and feasted upon the city, a hidden and feared hand. Rising in the dark, she moved and slayed those who deserved her vengeance. But that anger and hatred was fast becoming a delicious obsession. And now, even innocense suffered her blade.

Rising with a small scream, Lorean awoke from the nightmare. But she found her body not shivering in fear, but arousal. Why now? The dreams...were returning?

Moving to her window, she looked out into the dark. She did not have much of a view, the buildings so close together. A faint breeze reached her, nothing more. She needed to work in the garden...with the roses...

Leaving to the private garden of her own, locked behind a simple door but reinforced lock, she entered hoping for respite. Her body was very well developed, voluptuous...perhaps more so. She felt strange hungers...and she knew with certainty, her last liason had resulted in another child. It seemed as fertile and nubile her rosses became, so did she. And motherhood didn't quite fit into her plans right now.

Like all maidens, she once harbored those dreams of the handsome man who would sweep her away in love. Treat her well. Provide all she needed. And help fill their home with children. But the truth was far different. This man would not support her, not aid or love her. Her heart broke again and again. But the roses would help...would drive it all away.

As she opened the door, she saw a faint light. A candle! Lit! And there, digging in her precious flowers were two of her apprentices, trying to steal her precious blossoms. Each rose was as large as two man's hands. These prized posies fed by the ladies own tears and blood for years.

She became enraged, fevered. Grasping a small spade, she came upon the children cowering before the vision of fury and deadly beauty. Nothing would destroy her creation! No one could own her blood! No one!

The air filled with the sound of raising and falling strikes, like the cook preparing food. Little whimpers and howls echoed as a symphony of pain and fear, like whores in a show. The flowers watched, reveled, and seemed to dawn the brighter in the bloodshed. They would fed well this night.

* * *

The dreams...it was the dreams...she thought frantically as the rope lowered before her eyes. But she could not speak. They rent out her tongue and fed it to the flowers. Murder and mayhem had turned on her as the riptide. The mob of parents and merchants. The guard would not come in time, if it came at all.

The rope strengthed. She slacked against it. Simple as that.

But not for the woman. She did not rail or scream at the people as she died. She only cried within, tears large and salty.

Why do you cry? The voice of a mother soothing a child...to be fondled in the most inappropriate way. It was sultry, alluring, damning. Lorean felt madness so near her as it whispered.

My roses! How I cherish their redness, their fragrance. Why can they not see? The divinty of the blood and sweat, tears, the souls of those children became greater, wondrous, powerful. They woulod live forever...but now...who will care for my garden of woe and love?

What would you do for the garden?

Anything. I have given my blood, agony, love, tears--

Your life?

Eagerly.

Your soul?

With gratitude.

Her eyes opened. With a simple movement of pulling herself together, she unlooped the now lovely neck from the noose. Power filled her body...as did the once hazy memories. Clarity and need became a dance of flame and ache in her. Her voice, always a lovely and beautiful thing became a tide of passion. Her body so the same...so different. She did not shriek...nor laugh...nor judge. Now was not the time for such things. She had far to go.

"North to the palace of a final heart's frozen shards. And upon it, I will cut my cheek and let loose this torment for her...and her alone." Returning to her garden, she gathered the blossoms, feeding them a most potent wine of her blood. "Come...she calls."

Lorean gathered her blossoms. She turned the dagger of her passion and desire into every woman and man she met. They aided her without question. Her symphony of darkling light and spirited words overwhelmed them. They cherished her...as she the roses. The journey would be long. The night cold. But with their aid, she would attain a new home. The home of her master.