09-04-2013, 03:20 PM
He left.
Still and poised as a warm pool of water, Spectra's attention returned to the face in the mirror. The complexion staring back at her was smooth as caramel, the lips full and painted fiery red, but there was a time hidden in the darker corners of her memory when her appearance was thin and wan. When the fallen slave was cast from the stars and landed among the heathen world of freedom, and danger, and hunger, and desperation kept her warm at night when the rats did not.
The man that just left only knew the woman which had replaced that wretch; though at her frailest, she was never without her charms, but the Spectra of today overshadowed the identity that paparazzi forgot. Every once in a great while, however, the old monster of her past flashed and flickered, before the glorious strobe of that inner fire was carefully camouflaged once more.
She was placing the tools of her trade once more in their carefully concealed case lost in the thought of times past. When she lifted from the cushion and sauntered to the full length mirror to appraise of her sensuous silhouette, that monster reared unchecked heat, devilish and dangerous, to her study.
She smiled.
That same look, of caged passion, of threatened force, of daring solitude, made photographers crawl on their hands and knees to beg for a chance she turn a cheek their way.
Like a drug, she drew upon the fire itself and suddenly she was standing beneath a waterfall of force so warm and fulfilling, she literally was a rose blooming to the glory of summer. The sense of it curled her fingers with joy, like some self-pleasuring toy, the power was orgasmic and she nearly laughed out loud at the metaphor. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell; it was so much better than sex.
She would know.
Two steps into the main bunker of Block One and her wings were lifted on the winds of men attempting to whisk her away. She curled perfectly manicured fingernails painted the deepest of greens, down the smooth jaw of one handsome Russian athlete while yet playfully tapping the muscular chest of a dark-skinned Bollywood actor. They literally moved at the tug of her strings. It was a dance, and she was twined with partners thick as vines twisted in the jungle.
"A drink?" She smiled at the question as though the man was offering her a diamond ring. A brush against her shoulder and she turned. Someone had brought her a sparkling water with cucumber and mint, but Spectra waved the thing away, but not before plucking the raspberry floating from the top and placing it to her lips.
Just then, as she was peering over the man's shoulder, tall as she was already the line of sight was perfect, and with the raspberry perched at her lips, she saw someone she thought dead.
Cucumber boy followed the visual, peering across the lounge toward whom had stolen the fleeting moment Spectra had given him her attention. He was not pleased by the revelation, he looked as though his heart had been carved from his chest to be overlooked for someone who was clearly an unknown.
She toyed with the raspberry, cold and moist from the drink, along the rim of her lip until she was certain Hood would catch her eye. Then and only then did she tilt her head and slip it between her lips with a pleasingly symbolic smile. That should bring back some memories.
Edited by Spectra Lin, Sep 4 2013, 03:24 PM.
Still and poised as a warm pool of water, Spectra's attention returned to the face in the mirror. The complexion staring back at her was smooth as caramel, the lips full and painted fiery red, but there was a time hidden in the darker corners of her memory when her appearance was thin and wan. When the fallen slave was cast from the stars and landed among the heathen world of freedom, and danger, and hunger, and desperation kept her warm at night when the rats did not.
The man that just left only knew the woman which had replaced that wretch; though at her frailest, she was never without her charms, but the Spectra of today overshadowed the identity that paparazzi forgot. Every once in a great while, however, the old monster of her past flashed and flickered, before the glorious strobe of that inner fire was carefully camouflaged once more.
She was placing the tools of her trade once more in their carefully concealed case lost in the thought of times past. When she lifted from the cushion and sauntered to the full length mirror to appraise of her sensuous silhouette, that monster reared unchecked heat, devilish and dangerous, to her study.
She smiled.
That same look, of caged passion, of threatened force, of daring solitude, made photographers crawl on their hands and knees to beg for a chance she turn a cheek their way.
Like a drug, she drew upon the fire itself and suddenly she was standing beneath a waterfall of force so warm and fulfilling, she literally was a rose blooming to the glory of summer. The sense of it curled her fingers with joy, like some self-pleasuring toy, the power was orgasmic and she nearly laughed out loud at the metaphor. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell; it was so much better than sex.
She would know.
Two steps into the main bunker of Block One and her wings were lifted on the winds of men attempting to whisk her away. She curled perfectly manicured fingernails painted the deepest of greens, down the smooth jaw of one handsome Russian athlete while yet playfully tapping the muscular chest of a dark-skinned Bollywood actor. They literally moved at the tug of her strings. It was a dance, and she was twined with partners thick as vines twisted in the jungle.
"A drink?" She smiled at the question as though the man was offering her a diamond ring. A brush against her shoulder and she turned. Someone had brought her a sparkling water with cucumber and mint, but Spectra waved the thing away, but not before plucking the raspberry floating from the top and placing it to her lips.
Just then, as she was peering over the man's shoulder, tall as she was already the line of sight was perfect, and with the raspberry perched at her lips, she saw someone she thought dead.
Cucumber boy followed the visual, peering across the lounge toward whom had stolen the fleeting moment Spectra had given him her attention. He was not pleased by the revelation, he looked as though his heart had been carved from his chest to be overlooked for someone who was clearly an unknown.
She toyed with the raspberry, cold and moist from the drink, along the rim of her lip until she was certain Hood would catch her eye. Then and only then did she tilt her head and slip it between her lips with a pleasingly symbolic smile. That should bring back some memories.
Edited by Spectra Lin, Sep 4 2013, 03:24 PM.