𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Isaiah 49:15-16 }

Chapter 34's song: No song

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{ "God will not forget you, even if others do." }
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The still Callaway manor sits peacefully upon the high-rolling hills. The floors and rooms have been scarred by the past tragedy of humans. The secrets to the manor that inhibited demons surprisingly weren't revealed to the public eyes except for the fact that current inhabitants had an appetite for lustrous and desires to ravage the souls of the pure humans. Although the house is decorated secretly with the lustrous and desire of the humans who ravished a bit of frivolous activity within.

The manor quietly awaits its return from its master as its windows seem to appear darkened with concealment from despair. The mincing touches of laughter pervade the hallways within, and scurrying feet of feminine bodies would accompany it.

The bantering between the eyes of the guests and their predator has started to be more frequent, a game to them. Their futile attempts to entertain the predator's void heart by playing these ludicrous tricks with him. Simply yearning to evolve into being the one maiden that would finally make him feel... human again.

Just the mere concept of the ladies discussing how they were competent enough to capture such a wild beast and devilish looks with their moves. Although these nonsensical games were considered to be stultifying toward the lad. Every time they would attempt to make a chase of the rabbit and the wolf. With their long white nightgowns pushing against the frenzied breeze against their skin.

The soft silky gown that would have gotten caught up on their tailbone once they had fallen from an invisible object. Their hands are firmly placed onto the dark agony floors, kneecaps touching the harsh cold ground as their head pivots over to their wolf's body approaching their "helplessness". The eyes of the rabbit flicker with mirthfulness and lustrous, desiring to fulfill their true fantasy and become a beautiful hot mess together as their predator.

His golden eyes were two hollowed shells of who he once were. The simple human's emotions have been ripped apart by the cold darkness built within the many walls of the manor. The minuscule light that once comprehended the world around and those lovely feelings is a ghostly reminder to the demon. A nagging sensation arises every moment the mention or the imagination of y/n appears in his mind. Gazing into his face were two mirrors reflecting these women's innermost demons and fantasies.

The same fantasies that occurred when their face was shoved against the wooden floor, a bed, or a table as a transparent substance slipped from out their elegant aristocratic mouths. They utter inaudible words to the man causing them such a blissful feeling. Their hands would either claw on the ground around them or a futile attempt to cling onto the demon. Trying to dig their nails into him sensing their ulterior motive of claiming him as theirs.

Swiftly he would snatch their wrists within his large hand as he gives them the best possible sensation from him. The pure beauty in the ritual of becoming one is the screams and clawing that make them feel alive again. Yet all these damsels simply cannot satisfy the demon, the disappearance of Y/n created this desolate abyss in him. The same feeling perhaps worse than those three years of isolation.

Days on end, writing letters to send back to her in an attempt to make contact with the young woman. The latest letter he received from the woman was written five years ago in Spain. She reported about how she has been feeling emotionally emptied. How her heart thoroughly craves the insufferable feeling of victory to be in her clutches. Her mother's murderer was brought to justice and she would return once it was finished.

'Once she is finished. That would be for years before she could return to me. Years? Thon, (that) Ah umna (I am not) voluntarily cedin' for my lass to be either dead or perhaps forgotten of me. Why lass hae (have) ye deserted me without an ounce of offering?  You are such an adamant and ignorant human.' Vincent surmises, his head is resting on the back of his black chair.

His fingers trail over the same piece of paper his friend had caressed with devotion and consideration. Yet his heart's been skinned away in a sore affliction, especially when the concept of whether or not she is dead. It solely jabs at his intestines, twisting, turning, and scrambling themselves in a manner that elicits these estranged feelings again.

'I have naw knowledge ta these sensations, regardless every time ma mind captures ye. I get this feelin' that I am incompetent ta shake off and it sits for hours, often days until I am feedin' again. Feedin' hinders ma senses and ma functions, it allows me ta morph into ma previous self again. The one without ye yet the auld (old) wan (one) didna discern these delicious memories or phenomenon, especially of our lips touchin', our bodies teasin', yer voice singin'..'

Vincent's head is plagued with the memories of his hands roaming and wandering over her body, curiosity piquing his mind's hypothesis of what ifs initiates the first body search for her. Although she deferred his movements abruptly, his fingertips are abandoned and become phantoms to her skin.

He already perceived her feeble multitude of pleasurable sounds afflicted by his subtle touches. His hand lingered on her abdomen drawing a line upwards to her breasts, his fingertips brushed against her under breasts, ultimately leading to her sudden tantalizing reaction.

Unconsciously, his present body begins to behave by itself, his hand sliding down to his waistline, perceiving the sounds of his belt shifting around as his eyes closed becoming immense in the memories of their past. This familiar feeling commences to increase significantly once he's thrown back into those obscene thoughts. The overwhelming impulse to extricate the pent-up tension starts to be more evident and dominant.

Eventually, he reaches where he craves the most attention. His hand wraps itself around him, letting out a soft breath to escape his mouth, noticing any subtle touch could cause some explicit noises to erupt.

Up

Down

Up
  *Pants*
Down

Up
  *Pants*
Down

*Pants*

Usually, he would've fetched for a human to satiate his needs however his desire is to be consumed in images of the woman decorating his filthy head. Her lips, her eyes, her body just herself create this heightened sensation of neediness and admiration.

The continuous images of hers and his form shoving up against each other permitted him to discern her soft breasts firmly onto him, no corset, no undergarments. Just the pure gentle cushions of her. Her innocent voice audibly utters such provocative noises, sounds he is all too familiar with by now.

His breath starts to behave more erratic and heavier as his other hand touches the letter the lass delivered to him. His pace is fast and steady not once slowing down on this abrupt euphoric emotion.

Even if he wanted to stop himself from thinking such things about the lass, he couldn't. Something about the woman's clutches on him, has him begging for her to come back to him and to touch her pure skin. His body yearns for her all too strongly for him to suppress his intoxicating interest in her.

He wants her

He needs her

'What has she done to him that makes him do this to himself?'