And under the boughs unbowed / all clothed in the snowy shroud

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

Early evening, Friday 11 December. Kate's apartment

Snow has begun to drift down outside, a thin white flurry. It won't stick, I think, but the weather's getting cold enough that soon it might. I feel better rested today than I have done all week, but now the store is shut up for the night and I'm expecting Tess to arrive I feel rather sick with nerves. I got changed out of my work day clothes, but I wasn't sure what to put on. Part of me felt like I shouldn't have to make the effort to dress up, that I was annoyed enough at Tess still that I wanted her to see me looking tired and uncoiffed. And then the proud part of me wanted to look as pretty as I could precisely because I'm still annoyed with her. But then if I wore something nice, would it seem that I thought all of this was a frivolous matter? I think a lot of people don't understand that what you wear sends so many messages about yourself... Eventually I settled on my houndstooth skirt with a cream sweater. It will have to do. I put on a fresh coat of lipstick, because it always makes me feel more confident, and go through to the kitchen to start getting things ready for dinner. I hope - I hope that this can go well. I want to forgive her, I do. I want things to be alright.

[open to Tess]

And under the boughs unbowed / all clothed in the snowy shroud

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

Early evening, Friday 11 December. Kate's apartment

Snow has begun to drift down outside, a thin white flurry. It won't stick, I think, but the weather's getting cold enough that soon it might. I feel better rested today than I have done all week, but now the store is shut up for the night and I'm expecting Tess to arrive I feel rather sick with nerves. I got changed out of my work day clothes, but I wasn't sure what to put on. Part of me felt like I shouldn't have to make the effort to dress up, that I was annoyed enough at Tess still that I wanted her to see me looking tired and uncoiffed. And then the proud part of me wanted to look as pretty as I could precisely because I'm still annoyed with her. But then if I wore something nice, would it seem that I thought all of this was a frivolous matter? I think a lot of people don't understand that what you wear sends so many messages about yourself... Eventually I settled on my houndstooth skirt with a cream sweater. It will have to do. I put on a fresh coat of lipstick, because it always makes me feel more confident, and go through to the kitchen to start getting things ready for dinner. I hope - I hope that this can go well. I want to forgive her, I do. I want things to be alright.

[open to Tess]

Can't seem to find my way up from the basement...

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

(December 10th)
(Between now and then, between 11 and 10 days...)

I don't know this place, but it does not matter for it is mine.  He gave it to me, made it for me.  This dark places of violet shadows and burgundy walls and screams behind closed doors.   Screams of terror, of pain, mixed with low, throaty moans of pleasure.  I smile as I pass like a silent wraith down the halls, the black leather of my gown creaking ever so slightly as I move on stiletto heels.   I hear a voice call out, and cresendo into a scream, and I laugh softly as I continue on. 

Finally, I reach a set of spiral stairs and descend lower, lower, lower... until the candles barely pierce the darkness.  I push open a large oak door...
( Cut for Violence )

Smiling to myself, I sit down on the regal throne that is mine in this dark place, and study the blood staining my white hand.  I wonder if Lucien regrets his decision yet...

(Closed)
(open to Damien)
(Warning, scene of violence depicted)

Can't seem to find my way up from the basement...

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

(December 10th)
(Between now and then, between 11 and 10 days...)

I don't know this place, but it does not matter for it is mine.  He gave it to me, made it for me.  This dark places of violet shadows and burgundy walls and screams behind closed doors.   Screams of terror, of pain, mixed with low, throaty moans of pleasure.  I smile as I pass like a silent wraith down the halls, the black leather of my gown creaking ever so slightly as I move on stiletto heels.   I hear a voice call out, and cresendo into a scream, and I laugh softly as I continue on. 

Finally, I reach a set of spiral stairs and descend lower, lower, lower... until the candles barely pierce the darkness.  I push open a large oak door...
( Cut for Violence )

Smiling to myself, I sit down on the regal throne that is mine in this dark place, and study the blood staining my white hand.  I wonder if Lucien regrets his decision yet...

(Closed)
(open to Damien)
(Warning, scene of violence depicted)