Cordir's Dance
December 20, 2014: As part of the Kindred Masquerade Ball.
A Midnight Garden
[Exits: south]
(White Aura) A distressingly large, shiny black spider weaves webs here.
### [Somewhere, Venom says (in common), 'I toast to the Kindred Queen and all her kind. I thank you all for joining me in this celebration of evil.'.]
Cordir stands still and quiet, listening to the distant sound of music and revelry.
Cordir says, 'I prefer a celebration of all things Kindred instead...'.
A faint smile flickers upon the Weaver's lips.
The full moon above seems to intensify, taking on a crimson hue.
A dark shimmering appears in the garden, coalescing into the form of a half-elf Kindred, unknown to any but the most ancient.
Cordir's eyes well up as she gazes upon the shade of her husband:
The curl of his auburn hair where it spills over his shoulder.
The casual grace of his posture, underlined with the strength of a predator.
The ivory gleam of his fangs above the sensual curve of his lips.
Deamhan says (in common), '..my sweet goddess...'.
Deamhan's tone is low, teasing, restoring in three words an intimacy that has been absent for centuries.
Even knowing it is only a seeming of her own making, Cordir sways forward at the sound of his voice.
Cordir whispers, 'I miss you, love.'.
Two long steps, more flight than simple passage, and the distance is closed.
His arms sweep around her, gathering her to his chest.
Deamhan's hands tangle in her short hair, urgently drawing her up to his mouth.
His voice is clear in her mind, memory intermingled with illusion: *My mouth to your mouth… *
His lips capture hers, kissing her deeply. *My tongue to yours, my body and yours so close we can't tell the difference. You still have me, my witch.*
Finding the tip of one of his fangs with her tongue, she plays with its contour, then draws her tongue over its tip firmly enough to draw a little blood.
He inhales sharply, closing his eyes, and his mouth moves hungrily, tasting it and her, his aura flaring with the rush of power from even those few drops of Immortal blood.
* My demon lover. My wicked vampire. My bonded. *
For a moment, the illusion wavers as her heart breaks with his loss all over again... Then it renews, as solidly as before.
Distantly, orchestral music swells up, softly, pleasing to the ear.
Deamhan bows formally and invites in a low murmur, 'Dance with me.'.
Fingers entwine, bodies nestle yet closer, heartbeat as one.
The music continues and the pair move across the moonlit lawn with perfect synchronicity and ease.
Their movements are slow, languorous, as much lovemaking as a waltz.
The moon paces across the sky as they dance, until the coming dawn begins to chase it away.
The Kindred tightens his grasp on her waist, almost painfully so.
Cordir murmurs, 'I don't want this to end.'
Deamhan chuckles softly.
Deamhan says (in common), 'You can .. dance.. with me any time you like, my wicked witch. You're the Weaver. Simply call up that Time and that Place.'.
The woman's voice breaks slightly. "Yes, but it's just... remembering. I know why you're gone. I acknowledge its importance. But I damned well miss you! YOU - not my memories of you. And I wish... I cannot wish it wasn't so, because then Mireya, wherever she is, would be in greater peril. But still..."
Her head bows, to hide the sorrow and loneliness.
Deamhan's hand finds her chin, lifting her face so their eyes meet.
Deamhan says (in common), 'My love.. my sweet goddess... my wife... I know. I *know*. I share in that wanting. But .. we persevere. It is what Weaver does.'
He draws her close, tucking her head under his chin and stroking her hair in a comforting gesture.
At his touch, she stills: reliving, remembering.
The sun rises, the moon chased away by its brightness.
The Weaver stands alone in Her garden once more.