Red as Roses

by Nephrenia

A locked door and a muffled scream parted lips and nails scratching deep. Arching backs and rising voices, and then, a fall. Silence. Lost control such a hated thing, lost control, lost love, lost lust, lostbreath. Her body is still, fallen in a heap on the floor. He moves towards her the grey and blue bleeding back into his eyes swirling and mixing together to create a shade that is unique to him. He kneels; her body is still breathless silent. Her eyes still green locked on his not seeming accusatory at all, simply accepting. Lips as red as roses parted as if inviting a kiss, skin pale as a porcelain doll that spark of life simply missing. Silence still. He shakes his head disbelieving, he would not do that, he could not do that. Neither he nor the other could accept that much of a loss of control, but the proof is laying pale and cold in front of him. A stain is blossoming upon her chest, red against the white of her gown, dark against light, his disfigurement against her beauty. Destroying her beauty. Blood as red as roses spreading slowly across the floor, it touches his hand and he recoils back against the bed, the bed still warm, still fresh. He is swept into memory.



Lips sweeping against his and hips press him against the mattress, a rising feeling deep inside his chest that refuses to die. The caress of a hand against his cheek against his chest and shoulders clinging to his arms. And then somewhere in there something snapped he needed more, needed, wanted, needed and had. There was blood then, from her lip where he bit and from her back where he scratched, she screamed and she slapped him and she told him no. That was the last, he would not be told no, not in this state, not by her. He threw her down and his nails met flesh that was soft and yielding tearing easily through her gown, silk and gossamer, nearly smoke it was so light, the corset was harder but no match to his nails and then there was more red, red as were his eyes, gone was the control, gone was the serenity, there was only need, and want, and have. And he had.


He sobs collapsing to the floor, he did this, him, and the other. But still him and still she lay there cold and pale, red blossoming upon her breast, surrounding her in a pool of his own betrayal. He sweeps a bloodied hand across his cheek away with the tears but smearing her life across his flesh. His beautiful Samantha a cold statue on the floor painted with what was her own undoing. He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers cold and no longer pliant. He stands, “Goodbye my angel, it was a sin that I was able to destroy one such as you.” He walks to the door and takes a deep breath, and with that Sabin Duvert takes his last glance at the woman he loves, and always will love.


As red as roses til death do they part. He will be with her once again.