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"Your gaze has lingered on me for quite a while."
Bodies coming together again, the woman calling herself Acheron initiates the next stage.
She brings her partner up against her with a powerful lift, hand placed on a billowing ribcage, her foot between her partner"s. The lead and follow mirror each other"s steps, slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, Acheron winding the beautiful MemoKeeper in her arms into a sequence of harsh, staccato beats that carry them farther and farther away from the spotlight.
Their dance has no rise and fall, no swaying, their quick, sharp steps leaving no room for anyone else but each other.
Communicating her intentions through their movements, head lowered to bring her mouth to the trembling shell of her partner"s ear, Acheron speaks softly, "Will you dance with me again?"
In between dreams and memory, in the bottomless, black-tar waters reflecting a starless cosmos, the Remembrance screams.
Stretching out her hand in the vain hope of salvation, Black Swan falls into the yawning chasm.
Numerous Memokeepers before her have traveled to Penacony in search and wonder, leaving dissatisfied and forlorn by what they"d uncovered. She alone saw the value in Penacony"s illusions, its woven tapestry of dreams not without its potential, a buried treasure waiting to be discovered by her, if she were willing to delve deep to find it.
(― a gnawing, hungry abyss, a drop of red in a world of monochrome, barren but for a sea of corpses ― )
Instead, what Black Swan encounters is overpressing Totality.
She misjudged her opponent"s strength and made a terrible mistake.
Confident in her skill, she sought to seduce the truth out of her prey at the peak of her climax. She would steal inside her like the gossamer, elusive thread of dream, enchanting her, leaving her with the vague, pleasant experience of a fated encounter, with only Black Swan"s velvety voice to lull her to a peaceful sleep.
( ― a blood trail leading right into her, her body made flesh and bone again, a river consumed until the last drop, until not even marrow remained ― )
The loss of herself leaves her breathless.
Her senses close off. She is blind, swimming in monochrome; she is deaf, the screeching, dissonant cry of futility isolating her completely; she is mute, her sweet, honeyed voice becoming the chattering of teeth, the pitiful cry of a nightingale caught in the jaws of a beast left to starve. She doesn"t recognize herself.
All she has left is touch.
Everywhere Acheron touches her, heat kindles into a raging inferno.
Unable to control her body, Black Swan accompanies her partner to dance, slow, slow, quick, slow, quick, her limbs pulled along by red threads, floating in a realm beyond the stars.
"Please," she gasps. "Please."
The tranquil, calm waters of her memories become wild and untamed, beating against the shores of her fractured mind. She"s pulled into tatters, rendered limb from limb to become a feast for the empty stars below. She freefalls, careening into abysms.
Her hand is caught, fingers twining with hers, bringing her closer to the source of heat keeping her from sinking to frozen depths unfamiliar to even one as her. She has traveled with comets across the boundless universes, has witnessed the rise and fall of planets, and played witness to the spoken and unspoken, the arcane and the divine. She has never failed to be careful, never leaving any trace of her presence, ensuring that no one ever remembers her upon her departure. For that is Their way, to give up their mortal body and its attachments and accept the Transformation, to dedicate their entire existence to the keeping and collecting of memories.
She has failed.
Her passion led her to become interested in the mysterious, noble "Ranger" wandering ever alone, lost, and forgetful. She attracted Black Swan completely, the taste of her she could glean from observing her as ripe as a beautiful flower waiting to be picked. Cold, enchanting, lonely; the "Ranger" was exactly to her fancy, her beautiful, perfect prey.
It is Black Swan"s first, most grave mistake.
Trapped, she can no longer escape.
Acheron"s dull eyes stare into hers. Her voice is deep, gentle, as she catches her. "I accept your invitation."
She maintains eye contact, hands drifting, caressing the curve of Black Swan"s ass, sliding lower, stroking gently. She traces patterns with blunt fingernails, teasing ever closer to the juncture of Black Swan"s thighs. The low, electric tide of Acheron"s gaze hooks Black Swan in with the finality of a blackhole as her hands slide in between her legs to spread her thighs in invitation
Her fingertips find Black Swan soaked through her stockings.
Trapped within her corporeal body, Black Swan struggles futilely against the weight of black tar seeping into the pores of her bones. The viscosity of memory stains the wisp of her consciousness. The cold sheen of sweat beads down her neck, drops falling between the crevice of her breasts, the trail like crude oil sticking to delicate feathers, pinning Black Swan to the floor of a bottomless swamp.
Ah, how terrible it would be if she gave herself up completely. Engulfed in this ecstasy of damnation, where she can no longer differentiate fear from passion.
Acheron"s cold lips drift past Black Swan"s gasping mouth. "Beautiful MemoKeeper, forgive me. I may forget my strength."
A touch of frost to wake her up from her nightmare.
The dream - no - the memory - no-, the present slips, melting into a dim bedroom lit in an ambiguous light, the curtains drawn upon a stage made of two. The viper coils tightly around Black Swan"s writhing body, her wrists held above her head as a silken tongue caresses her damp sex, rimming between the sensitive folds with wicked, sly licks. Swollen with lust, her core trembles as her memory fragments, illicit sounds bursting from her pleading mouth as the viper delves deeper inside her. Dexterous fingers spread her wider, the flat end of Acheron"s tongue flickering over the stretch, pressing down on Black Swan"s swollen desire until she cries out into the shadows.
Never before had she felt so freely, so true, open, and raw like a bleeding wound.
The fresh scent of blood invites the beast.
Face buried between the cradle of Black Swan"s thighs, Acheron feasts on her with ferocious hunger, frightening in its intensity, a starved animal on the last threads of their self-control. The burning scarlet eyes looking up at her in the murky darkness cut Black Swan open, baring her down to her smallest components, allowing herself to be tortured with sumptuous relish.
Slow, slow, quick, slow, quick, Black Swan dances to the beat of her partner"s steps, the sharp staccato of her heart thundering in her ribcage as she tries to take flight and flee. Caught in a snare, her wings are ripped from her back, plummeting her back into the pit of tar; all she can do is cry as claws fist in her hair, snapping her back into arms closing around her, twirling her into step, slow, slow, quick, slow, quick, the dark whisper in her ear accompanied by cold, firm lips.
Beautiful MemoKeeper, once the music starts, it should be danced to the end.
The tear of her stockings ripping under Acheron"s hands snaps her out of the memory. Mouth open in a silent scream, sight blurred by unshed tears, Black Swan reaches blindly into the dark. Her fingers touch her partner"s face, the cool feel of her skin a stark contrast to her warmth.
Pausing, Acheron lets Black Swan touch her, gloved fingers tracing the bridge of her elegant nose, the sharp cheekbones, the long, arched eyebrows, feeling the flutter of thick lashes against her. Black Swan caresses the firm feel of Acheron"s mouth, shivering sharply when lips wrap around her fingers, sucking her in.
The woman she"s observed for so long is a beautiful, mysterious "Ranger" traveling the galaxy alone ―
The woman she"s observed for so long is a pernicious calamity, a Harbinger of Death ―
"Sorry," Acheron says, genuine. She licks her lips, wet and glossy with Black Swan"s spent. "I forgot myself."
Trembling, Black Swan gasps sweetly, every inch of her body overly sensitive to the touches and ardent licks rendering her asunder. Lapping her clean, Acheron"s mouth slowly leaves her cunt, leaving Black Swan suffering the aftershocks of her orgasm. She isn"t given any time before a slender finger slips into the source of her ache, rubbing her with gentle, low strokes, a shallow penetration that doesn"t stay so for long. The burrowing finger is joined by a second, followed by Acheron"s tongue thrusting hard where Black Swan is laid open and wet.
It"s too much too sudden, too fast. Black Swan sobs from the pleasure, her birdsong hoarse as she calls for mercy. Oh, how had she ever mistaken this woman as her prey?
In the end, the one consumed is her.
The viper coils down her body, constricting her breasts, squeezing her tighter and tighter, cutting her pleas short. Acheron"s mouth settles on Black Swan"s sex once more, closing over her hidden bud, where her tongue flickers back and forth until Black Swan screams in blissful rapture.
Again, and again, she is eaten mercilessly, with no reprise to be found, only hunger, lust, and fear, their dance with no end in sight.
Heart beating fit to burst, Black Swan"s arched back gradually sinks back on the silk bedsheets, chest rising and falling with her tumultuous breathing. Strong arms draw her to her partner, cold lips traveling along her cheek in kisses, Black Swan"s lips falling open to accept a tongue inside her mouth. She can smell her scent on her partner, tasting her elixir on Acheron"s tongue, and what she samples makes her even more inebriated. It"s the heady, delicious smell of a woman at the cusp of her desire, blending with the taste of their arousal, the combination intoxicating.
Eyes half-lidded, staring into the scarlet irises devouring the sight of her, Black Swan begs once more, "Please."
Plundering Black Swan"s mouth for a long, lingering moment, Acheron"s lips descend past the vulnerable line of Black Swan"s throat, moving aside the fall of snow silk hair to suck a bruise where her neck meets her shoulder. Strong hands envelop Black Swan"s breasts, fingers flicking her nipples to tight buds begging to be suckled. Suckled she is, imbibed until empty, the narrow space between their bodies disappearing when she"s grabbed by her shoulders and pinned down on the bed. Acheron shifts, trapping Black Swan beneath the strength of her body, her thigh slipping between Black Swan"s to feel her drip on her.
Her cold lips touch the nape of Black Swan"s neck, "Your beautiful dance, let me repay it with my memory."
The viper strikes when Black Swan is at her most vulnerable, sinking fangs deep inside her, her poison racing scorching fire from every point of contact.
Black Swan arches beneath Acheron, breathless, hair a mess, hips bucking up into her. Acheron holds her by her hair, fucking her roughly, the sharp swivel of her hips torturous, the wet slide of their bodies wringing shout after shout from Black Swan"s mouth. Acheron forces Black Swan"s thighs further apart, the stretch near painful, bouncing her hips, rutting her hard. The wild thrusts increase in strength, Black Swan"s knees almost buckling from the force as she"s rocked to the rhythm of Acheron"s fucking, trying desperately to keep up with her tempo as she drowns in the sea of memory.
She made a terrible, terrible mistake, one which she will pay dearly for until the last star in the skies dies out.
When she feels Black Swan seize up, shudder, and stop moving, Acheron bends her head to kiss the corner of her silently moving mouth. Her hips continue to rock slowly, her violent desire nowhere near quenched, her hunger, once awakened, terrifying and all-consuming.
"Beautiful MemoKeeper, before I forget you, please allow me one last dance."