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...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

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...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Tue Aug 11, 2009 9:47 pm

There were certain qualities that Wylie was known for. All part of her image, all part of her charm. One of them was that she did not make appointments. How could one possibly know if they would be in a suitable humour to be painted in advance? Impossible, simply impossible. One painted Wylie when her iron was hot for the striking or not at all. Did Shelia know this? If not she was about to learn. For it was five minutes to midnight when the address on the card received a ring of the bell. Or a knock on the door. Whichever applied. With Wylie standing outside said door in wait. She was a clean slate. Always was when she was willing to sit. Not a scrap of make-up on. So hard to believe when looking at her. She seemed so done. Flawless. It was fortune that made her so. 'Born' with it, not Maybeline. Her garments - garment rather - was simple. A pristine white cotton wraparound dress which tied about the waist. Reminiscent of a robe yet tailored to her body in a way that make the look sophisticated and demure. The dress reached just above her knee. On her feet were sandals hankering back to the days of yore. Very Grecian. The sort where the strap tied around the calf in a crisscross. As she stood waiting to be greeted she tilted her chin upward. Jungle green gaze taking in the building's facade. A slight curl to the corner of her lip - anticipation. How thrilling this would be. So long as Shelia answered the door.

Shelia incorporated the doorbell into her dream. It was a disgusting little creature holding a bell, tolling it for death or some such. In the dream, the Enchantress snarled her displeasure, so intense that Shelia awakened trying to spout out a reprimand of the sharpest kind. Then her head popped up from her belly laying position. It took her several moments to comprehend that it was her doorbell. When that penetrated her dream fogged brain, she tumbled from the bed, blonde hair a mass of tangles tumbling down the black silk robe that was tugged tight at her waist. A yawn hidden behind a slender hand, then she peeked through the peep hole. Her yawn was halted mid force. Wylie? She felt her heart skip beats, an uncharacteristic trait for Shelia, but then again, everything since Wylie stepped into her world , had changed significantly. The lock was executed quickly and the door flung open. Shelia would have had to have been blind, deaf and dumb not to appreciate the view Wylie presented. Added to the fact that she was none of those things, she was also an artist who held an appreciation for living, breathing, beauty. She started at the Grecian sandals and raked her way up the entire vision. When her pale eyes landed on the vibrant green of Wylie, a slow smile came. "Feeling inspired? If not, know that you are spreading inspiration..." She stepped back to open the door fully, and waved her arm. "If you stand out there much longer, I may have to call the police for your protection.." Shelia lived in a swank part of town, the studio apartment massive, open, with her work studio making up half of it, but Wylie had the sort of looks and right now, that certain mysterious something, that brought even good folk to the edge of crime.

Wylie could hear the sounds of stirring before the door was opened. Shelia was here. Good. A foxen smile for the artist, lavish and sublime. "Not inspired, my Shelia. Ripe. I feel ripe for the picking. And far more delectable than any fruit. Such nights don't happen often. I consider it serendipity smiling on me." Declared with an almost musical timbre to her voice. As Wylie strode by Shelia with such grace she almost seemed to glide. "No." Said so firmly as the female form of Chaos came to a most sudden halt. As if she had some disagreement with Shelia's chosen abode. But when Wylie turned around there was no such malice to be seen on her expression. "On you. How silly of me. Fortune favors the artist, not the flighty model. I have you to thank for my ripened state." Only after that catharsis did Wylie's eyes wander. Taking in this picture of Shelia and her robe. "My," a playful tush of her tongue. "Is there anything under there? Don't tell me you're to be the model and I the painter! I'm afraid I haven't picked up a brush for more years than I care to count." Did this Chaos in vixen's clothing know she woke Shelia from slumber? If she did there was no mention of it. As if she assumed all were just as blessed as she to not chained by the concepts of night and day.

Shelia's laughter burst from her before she could allay it's creation. The woman was an absolute treasure. Never before had Shelia looked at another woman and saw anything but just that..another woman. Wylie was something far more than just a female of her own kind. She was the kind that pulled you in, then released you, only to slowly weave you back into her beautiful, sparkling web of the exotic. Chaos was indeed what Shelia was feeling, and it came out in that laughter. "Ripe is a descriptor that brings to mind so many things...so many ways of presenting you on canvas.." Already the tall blonde was moving around Wylie as she walked. "Nothing beneath the robe...." came out as a distracted answer, for she was far too busy, touching a dark lock, sweeping her fingertips down the cloth of the draping garment, and wondering how on earth nature gave a woman that kind of natural beauty. "...and trust me, you are the model, my Wylie.." Taking in a breath, tugging at the belt a tad tighter, she was moving through the studio apartment ...trailing clouds of glory. If motivation and the hunger to paint were stars, Shelia would be surrounded by a constellation of them right now. She was turning on lights, and pulling drop cloths off easels and placing canvas. She was torn between setting up her things and bringing Wylie to the perfect position. It was midnight so natural light was out, but she had her studio appropriated to include any circumstance. Shelia disappeared for a few seconds and returned with a ripe, red apple. She placed it in Wylie's hand, then moved her gently to a certain side standing position, the Grecian robe was touched, edging it down the svelte shoulder of Wylie as she met her eyes and spoke. "Tell me again how it is you need lessons in teasing, hm?" Slender fingertips loosened the strap of one side of the gown, so it fell in an anarchy at Wylie's waist on one side, exposing the full breast. She lifted the apple in Wylie's hand to linger near the exposed succulent flesh. "It's a start..." said more to herself than to the woman, then Shelia was backing away, holding a hand up, her mouth parted, tousled blonde hair still a tumble around her shoulders, while she reached for her paints and brush.

How she enjoyed the laughter. But she did not comment on it. Wylie had been around long enough to know that if one commented it stole the dazzle away. The natural beauty of behavior. "Now now. Don't let my words sway your brush. My words have no business on your canvas. Anytime they threaten to get in your way you must command me to quiet. I insist. Otherwise my lips carry on as if I have the sole responsibility of filling the world with sound. I adore chatter, it's one of my wicked little sins." There was that smile again. The curve of her lips presented such a private invitation. 'What a world you've entered', they seemed to say, 'What luck'. All that subtext in a smile. All this spoken while Shelia bustled about the busy squirrel. Turning on her lights and so on. Wylie could have taken this time to take in her surroundings. But no. She chose to watch only Shelia as she moved through her space. The artist in her element. Humans were such fascinating creatures. Animals were driven by survival. Humans? By that and...more. This one seemed driven by expression. Artists often were. Once Shelia approached with the apple and started to position her the mortal artist would find the task so easy. As if Wylie was a pliable doll. She did not move a fraction without Shelia's warm hands guiding her there first. And to be partially derobed seemed nothing but natural to Wylie. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question, Shelia. Not with this apple in my hand. I fear you and all the angels will point your fingers and accuse me eve. She was the consummate tease, don't you think?"

She certainly was, and with that apple in her hand, Wylie was dead on correct. Against the mortal male, Shelia could call the police, but against heaven and all its minions? Never. Again she laughed, but her eyes were bright with eagerness. The first stroke of the brush on the canvas was always the most important. This one, moreso than most, for if she were to capture the essence of Wylie, it would begin with the first stroke. There would be no covering up, no fixing mistakes. There could be no mistakes, for it would pain Shelia as sure as a physical wound. She was every artists dream, but had she not promised just that? The gleam in Shelia's eyes grew to something akin to having your fix of a drug that you'd been jonesing for, for ages. Satiation in that first poise of her brush. She should have sketched her first, in many different positions, then painted her later, but she knew from the outset that it could never be that way with Wylie. She had to capture, in paint, on the canvas itself, from the moment everything was right, that first sweeping stroke. And thus she did. Beige and tan, blended and the first arc was made. It was the edge of her gown. "He wants study pieces, your hand, your breast...and only twenty? Seems paltry, considering we could make a study of each finger alone.." A glance up to those green jungle eyes and a slow wink of Shelia's before she was back at her work. After the initial sweep, the work began in full force. She tilted her head, caressed each part of her breast and the nipple, only to imprint on that blank slate what her mind captured in the smallest nuances of Wylie.

For many models maintaining the pose was work. Sometimes painful work that lead to tightness or strains of muscles. Not for this one. She was a living statue in her own right. Holding her position as if there were no better position to provide her with absolute comfort. Her body breathed ease. Leisure. She was that elusive quality that was so hard to capture when posed - natural. How did she manage such feat so little effort? The secret answer was simple. The potential for Chaos was absolute. Thus Chaos could exist absolutely. In any way, shape or form. Including of course the particular shape Shelia had chosen for Wylie now. How could any artist not feel like a genius under such circumstances? When it came to life on the canvas complete it made it seem like this enigma was all their own doing. "Straight to the paint!" Wylie observed this phenomenon with a gasp that barely contained her thrill. "Carpe diem, right by it's very throat. How I adore you. I owe Cerrano and his loose lips so very much. You'll be the very water that keeps me from willing in these dogged days of summer, I can feel it. As for our generous patron. You know men." Such emphasis on the 'you'. As if Wylie already knew that Shelia knew. "They are takers. We the females will give him twenty. And he will demand twenty more. In a tone that tells us we should have known this was his heart's desire even before he knew it himself. Such poor, funny creatures." Men, that is.

It was a dilemma. That former smile of private invitation that crept over Wylie's mouth like a symphony in and of itself, taunted Shelia in her mind, while she focused on the luscious curves of breast and apple. The hues of a mauve nipple, the brightness of the ripe red apple, how even it, in all it's glory, paled in comparison. There was a moment of pause at Wylie's comment. The 'you'. Shelia's eyes lifted to meet hers over the distance. The black silk robe was as untamed as Shelia's hair right now, sifting and dancing over her skin, revealing first a firm thigh, then a smooth shoulder. But it was never static, always dynamic, until that familiar insinuation came. She held the gaze of Chaos for a moment, then gave a smile allowing her eyes to tear away toward the object of her current creation. Behind Wylie on canvas, or at least the small part of her that Shelia was capturing, was darkness. Swirling darkness, turning in on itself, chaos, muted and blurred. It was the perfect backdrop for the pristine beauty of what was the centerpiece of the creation. "Men. I've found they need you desperately in one breath, and in the next, they've found you are not what they were looking for.....only to realize they have no idea what is it they want. Other than...everything." The wry smile held little influence over what her hand was doing, each moment that passed the masterpiece was forming. Shelia felt her heart going erratic. Seeing it take form, and holding the very energy that Wylie exuded, well, there were no words. "Though for the life of me, I cannot understand why I continue to allow them a place in my ..." she started to say heart, but settled instead for.."life.."

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Tue Aug 11, 2009 9:51 pm

In the moment after she'd spoken had Wylie held her breath? It surely seemed so. For once Shelia began her reply Wylie exhaled. It was a sound that embodied relief. And that relief continued into her breathy words. In a literal sense. "I'm so relieved. Not for your troubles of course." She added that with a commiserating glint to her dark green eyes. "But for your assessments. You have no idea. There are so many that hear me speak on the subject of men and they find me so terribly, terribly jaded. But I sally forth and insist that I am not. I merely speak what I see, and I can speak nothing other than truth. Men. Boars are more empathetic creatures. This doesn't leave the room, but..." a pause to create a faint bit of suspense. Wylie's jungle gaze searching the room as if she was checking to make sure the walls didn't have ears. Her next words were a mere whisper. "How I dread a male artist. They paint me merely as their desire to touch what only their brush and paint are allowed to touch through recreation. They paint how big my breast it. How supple my backside is. How 'hot' the curve of my side. I am a symbol for their desire first. And any other meaning second, third or a distant last. But I continue to sit for them just as you continue to allow them a place in your life. For if I were to sit and there was no one holding the brush...what would I be besides alone? At least a male with a brush is a companion, a venture into mutual expression, for a short while albeit brief and most often disappointing." A sigh. So slight. A tickle upon the air. As her eyes lowered.

The gentle flutter of her lashes came when her eyes left the canvas, and any part of Wylie she was focusing on, to look at the lady as she sighed. Delicate brows lifted, a spark of understanding came, but was hidden when she returned to her work. Though, it was a subject she could not leave untouched. "How is it you know, that I am not painting you from that very same vantage point, Wylie? I could be desiring to touch you, as my brush caresses into shape that which I see before me?" She mused the answer to that question herself. Lips pursed, and the brows now furrowed in thought. Once her face smoothed, however, so did her contemplation. "One as you, should never be alone. Why is it we feel that any sacrifice is expected, and given, simply to have them? I do not know....." Her heart panged. She lay the brush aside, plucked up a glass of water and moved toward her model. She turned the apple to a better view of it's roundness, for certainly Wylie needed no adjustments. A single drop of water was allowed to dribble down the shining red surface of the apple, and again Shelia backed away, her eyes fastened to it as if it would vanish. "If I hear it is the fate of women, I shall vomit, for our fate is more than who we bed. Our fate is our own, though for a time..I did not believe it. For a time, I was willing to end my life...and how sad that would have been....to have missed this. To have missed...you." The brush was reclaimed, and held in mid air while she tipped up her nose and let her eyes travel over the full vision before proceeding.

The most dangerous devils were the ones that spoke the truth. And Wylie always did. Always. Her annoyance with the base lust of mortal men was certainly truth. Stemmed from the simple fact that she was born and spent thousands upon thousands of years as a man, perhaps. A man can see right through the tricks of his fellows as they are also his own. A man who is Chaos can see the tricks that make those tricks what they are, for it is Chaos that sets so much into motion. And a man who is Chaos now in female shape? So dangerous, Loki's depth of knowledge regarding human nature. It was how she could speak with such absolute confidence now. "Because were that true that you were painting your desire into fruition? What sparks that desire within you is a far cry from what sparks the same desire in a man. Your desire..." Wylie trailed off. Gaze distant. Far off. As if she was imagining. Painting a portrait in her own mind of what she thought made Shelia tick. "Would be fueled powerfully. As waves are fueled with the whole body of ocean water behind them. Crashing to the shore with the force of your excitement. Quick to strike, to pull at the grains of sand that make up the beach. To carry them back with you. To horde them as yours. To cherish them in your body. Forever surrounded by you and cared for." A blink once, twice, three times and Wylie was back from her imagining. Like time had stopped and was now restarting. "That, my Shelia, is far different than painting what one simply desires to grope and slap his body against." For Shelia there was a smile. This one different than all the rest. Weary, but wily even still. As she rested her jungle gaze upon her artist. "Then I hope I've proven what a mistake that would have been. Would be, should you ever consider it again. No matter how good or bad a moment is, the one thing it will always do is change." She was certain to emphasize that wisdom. Wisdom of a divine power so many thousands of years old. Her smile blossomed them. Flourished into its beckoning beauty. "And when change is forever on the horizon the odds are always in our favor."

She was quite literally enraptured. The words that fell from Wylie's tongue made a mark inside Shelia's very cellular structure. They rang crystalline true. Shelia did not breathe for the time it was all said, until Wylie's smile blossomed. It was then Shelia took a breath again, and relief washed over her visibly. Cleansing the inner storm that set up inside her, despite her reprieve from suicide. Then Shelia laughed, the brush was lowered and she clasped her hands beneath her chin, laughter continuing. It was the release of tension, of finally understanding that nothing was so dire, that life had to end. It only changed, changed shaped, changed direction, took on new attributes. She went to Wylie then, extended her hand. "Come, I need a drink before we continue...." She had no doubts that Wylie would take up the position just as perfectly as prior, so a break was of no concern. If Wylie took her hand, she would feel the gentle slide of Shelia's into hers, with a warm squeeze before she led her to the kitchen. An island bar was in the center with stools all around. "Normally I meet with the model and we talk first, but with you there was no cause. Your renown preceded you." She put on the kettle and opened the fridge to allow Wylie to view. As Shelia faced the fridge she recalled the weary, world worn smile of Wylie. It was one that spoke volumes, and held more meaning than hours of platitudes. Cups and glasses were arranged on a tray, and Shelia approached the bar. "You are eclectic, and unpredictable. And yet, whatever it is that you undertake, it is done with a regal flamboyance, that is irresistible. Though I am preaching to the choir, for you already know this...." *Shelia grinned, as she put a tea bag in a cup, then poured some lemonade and fruit juice to give Wylie a choice. "I rarely drink anything stronger, it blunts the creative process and is a bitch to get over the next day..." When the kettle whistled, she poured two tea cups and put a dollop of honey in her own before lifting it to sip. Swallowing, she smiled at Wylie. "I ask them about their lives, why they do what they do, what is it they hope to accomplish. Some are seeking immortality, others are simply searching for extra funds. But once in a great while, I find one who gives me an answer that is unexpected. I know that to be the one for my work. None of them, however, has ever given me what you have. Painting you is like a relationship with you. Give and take, as much as I enjoy imprinting in paint my vision of you, you enjoy seeing it happen. A certain je ne sais quai hovers around you, and it is that which an artist seeks to capture. Even if we manage to get even a fleeting shred of it on canvas, we've done more than any other..." She knew there was more to Wylie than even that, but it was the most succinct way she had of putting it. "The men, however, oh the men, they are always looking to show off their physical attributes, the same as being painted by one, painting one is duplicated in reverse."

What to drink. Her jungle gazed lowered, studying the two options. The scent of lemon tickled her nose and thus it was her choice and poured. Lemons delighted her. Such a bright yellow. Promise of sweetness. Then one bit into them. And they were assaulted by sour. It was a dichotomy that thrilled Chaos. Shelia's description of how those who painted her sought to capture her made her grin. A foxen, wild grin. The many smiles of Wylie were testament in themselves to how many facets this mystery had. "When the only absolute certainty is change how can a portrayal of me be anything but? One would have to paint me all their life to really take up the chase. None have been so brave. Or so foolish. I suspect foolish, as all I have sat for are smart enough to end our relationship before it consumes them completely. As for the male models," a graceful shrug of her shoulders as she paused to sip at lemonade. Enjoying the way it made her tastebuds pinch and her lips pucker. "I have had the experience of sharing canvas with them. As you know." Wylie assumed she knew being an artist in the business. "They are unwilling to release their hold on their own flesh as it is a mask which hides what is vulnerable within. Men do not like to be vulnerable in any sense of the word." Brother Thor was a fantastic example of this she felt.

She spoke like a woman who knew..intimately..the importance a man places upon his own flesh. Indeed they did, to the point that one particular image came to Shelia's mind of one of her male models who insisted on holding his penis like it was a sword of honor. It was not honorable, nor was it anywhere near a sword. Ahem. She did laugh though, sipping her tea idly. "But what a life's goal it would be, to endeavor to paint you as each month bloomed forth. To capture, if only for the moment, that essence in all its lovely forms.." Shelia grinned, and finished off her tea, before nodding the messy blonde head in agreement. Paint smears touched at her fingers and arms, even a tad in her hair, but none of that mattered when she worked. "But enough about me and mine, I know your 'buyer' has specific ideas of body parts he wishes to highlight, my question would bed you?"

Oh Wylie knew. Intimately. Her smile hinted of the hidden gold of her thoughts. Thought of other things besides men cowering behind the safety blanket of their own flesh. Her thoughts and sights were upon Shelia. For multiple reasons. One was, of course, was to become the cherished luxury of this mortal vessel. How well that would serve on the occasions that Amora surfaced, to be the precious companion of the one who housed the goddess. To what end? Time would tell the tale when it was ready. If it was ever told at all. For each moment there was change so there was no point looking into the future. Loki simply prepared for everything. And nothing. All at the same time. But vessel aside this mortal would have caught the attention of Chaos nonetheless. A woman fighting for her own life. Her own worth. Her power to express. Wylie was not the only one in this room ripe for picking. Her thoughts perhaps fueled her words. The way they were huskily uttered. Like a dirty secret. "Oh Shelia. Tell me. Have you ever been consumed? Like your wave does to the grains of sand? Do you not think those artists smart to rid themselves of me when they feel they're stepping too far into the unknown? Van Gogh, after all. He lost an ear when he lost himself for good." And then his life. But she left that unspoken. No need to dwell on suicide. "As for the twenty. I wish you to highlight bits of me you're certain no one else would be wily," a grin, "enough to capture. The parts of me where your eagle eyes see nuances that even my own hands have never discovered."

"Mmm....a delicious thought..." Whether it was the consuming part or the discovery of those parts no other had yet looked quite far enough to find in Wylie, not even Wylie herself, was uncertain. Yet Shelia's reaction was profound. Her nostrils flared ever so faintly, as if aroused. She straightened a bit, holding that tea cup at half mast, while her eyes went unfocused. Then she spoke, "If I am to be consumed, may it be with that which holds my passion so fast I can never break free. For what is life without passion? It is empty and meaningless...and while it may hurt more deeply than anything we've ever experienced, we would truly be dead without it......" She took a breath and hummed out her exhale, the teacup forgotten. She lifted her hand to Wylie, "A little more time for this sitting? Then you will be free, but if I do not capture the way the apple cries because it is nothing compared to your breast...I may never sleep again.." It was overly dramatic but then it happened when she was caught up in what she was doing. And she was currently 'doing' Wylie. In her own, artistic way, of course. "You have me imprisoned in you, Wylie, and for all that it is true, I would have it no other way..."

Spoken like a true diamond. Shelia's impassioned words made the mischief in Wylie's eyes sparkle like winking stars. "Then we must not delay another moment." She set her half-finished lemonade down on the counter. Ceasing her leaning to stand straight. A step was taken not back to her position in front of the canvas. But to Shelia instead. A flash of a grin. Sudden as a bolt of lightening across the sky. Before she ducked to the side to whisper into the artist's ear. "I delight in taking captives." As Wylie said that she touched her fingertips against Shelia's opposite cheek. For a fleeting moment there it was. The small hint of buzz. Of electrifying energy within. The spark of Chaos. A delicious little zap on her cheek. And then it was over. Wylie's hand dropped and she turned her body smoothly to return to where she stood before. She made small talk as she shrugged the side of her dress off her shoulder to expose her breast. For the sheer delight of contrast. Such deep exciting things they had spoke of. And now a comment deceivingly mundane. "You have delicious taste in lemons."

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Tue Aug 11, 2009 9:55 pm

It was the Wylie way, as it was becoming known to Shelia. Tease her mercilessly, then flutter away to drop a comment that brought Shelia's laughter. There was no therapist that could have accomplished as much as Wylie with the artist. The zing left Shelia's entire body on alert, the course of the shock warmed her through and through, left her feeling slightly,high..nearly euphoric, and as such the painting took on new dimensions. "Why thank you, Wylie, my taste seems to be evolving, as in all things...changing to the more refined.." Her eyes lifted to Wylie then dropped to the canvas in regular rhythms, though now there was no urgency or awkwardness to Shelia. She was in her zone, the groove enhanced by the shot of power from chaos. Colors were more brilliant, details more vivid, and even her movements were silken and assured. The brush moved over the canvas, and like a Goddess, she saw her creation coming to life beneath her touch. It was enough to make a grown girl weep, but to heck with that, she felt too good to weep.

What that shock could do. When Wylie put it to specific task. Other than simply leaving her mark. She wasn't so daring though. Not yet. To arouse Amora's ire or suspicion would be a dire mistake. All things in good time. All she sought of Shelia tonight was to enrapture her. To sow the seeds of as Shelia had called it, a manner of relationship. One that would prove fast. Risky. Impassioned. Perhaps Shelia would be the one to take the risk of losing herself in all of it. But when one lost they always gained in return. So much to gain when it was Chaos holding the gifts. "I am a big fan of evolution. We must constantly shed our skins. Born anew again and again. Otherwise wither happens. Rot. If you were about to take your life. Surely you were rotting. But your change in taste..." How she grinned then. A bloom over her pristine features. "All you needed were new blossoms. You have proved it just now. And how pretty they are, my Shelia. What's more, you paint now like a dance. You're dancing with my image. I'm envious of her." Her image. Wylie was unabashedly being coy.

"Rotting yes, it was definitely my condition at the..." but her words trailed off for her eyes had lifted to see that blossoming grin. Like flower petals opening to the noonday sun to seek their sustenance, and the world around the darkness of Shelia's misery became lighter, light angling and bending to show her even more revelations. Shelia finally returned the grin, dimpling the sides of her cheeks, before she lowered her eyes to almost fanatically add the next layer of color. "If this is a dance, then may I never cling to the wall again, my Wylie.." For Shelia, as the artist, this was a relationship. One that started out with the unknown, each moment together revealing more and more of one another. She did feel that Wylie knew what she was doing from the very moment she introduced herself, but at the same time, Shelia could no more have refused her than she could stop taking in air. Recognition was something she yearned for....desired above all else, but somehow, in the middle of her brushing paint across a canvas, she already felt recognized. By Wylie. Perhaps that was the point of her newfound strength, charged with the energy of Chaos, it made her heart beat stronger, her mind think quicker and her lungs fill with renewed hope.

Some scorned Chaos. Called it evil. Brother Thor even spoke of Loki as 'dark'. But Chaos had no alignment of allegiance. Something that Brother never understood. The gifts of Chaos could save lives. Or destroy them. Or change a live so subtly it went unnoticed. For Shelia, tonight, surely Chaos smiled upon her. Bestowed her with a fire that she could use to ignite her passion. As Wylie posed. Still as a statue. Watching it all unfolded. Such a delightful evening. "I certainly hope not. Wallflowers are a sweet sight only when they are first spotted. Then the attraction is when they come away from the wall. Shed their inhibitions. And spread themselves over the entire space. No one can rule over a room like a wallflower freed." Besides Wylie. But surely that went without saying? As Shelia danced with her canvas Wylie watched her work. Taking in the details of the artist. The dimples were noticed. As was the speed in which the woman painted. The manner in which she held her brush. And so on.

It was nearly done, and that fact alone was unheard of. Artists took days, sometimes weeks to paint even the simplest of visions like a perfect breast with an apple weeping over the beauty. But tonight, it was nearing completion without so much as a cramp in Shelia's wrist. She breathed out and lifted her eyes once more to the lovely, and enigmatic Wylie. She wanted to say, 'do you have any idea what you've given me?', but that would be like asking God if he knew how green the trees were, or how beautiful a waterfall in sunlight was. Stating the obvious. She placed the brush down, and then moved to bow flamboyantly to Wylie. "Your work here is done..." This was the point that Shelia usually set up another sitting, but instinct told her that would not be necessary, that when she heard her doorbell ring, and saw the elusive beauty of Wylie through the peephole, it would be time. "Shall we retire to the sofa?"

"A work completed in one sitting? My..." The faint blink and the timbre of her voice revealed that she was only half-surprised. Her body relaxed out of it's pose. Free hand now finding its way to the apple, thumb slowing caressing down the shining surface. Wylie raised it to eye level as if to appraise it. Or gaze into it like a looking glass. "you are the wave." A crafty crook of the corner of her lip as she turned her eyes upon the artist. "But I refuse to glance at it even for a second. Not until all twenty are complete. I like to leave myself in wonder. I feel the anticipation enlivens me." Yet Wylie was making her way over to the canvas. But not for the art. No, for the artist. Her free hand dipped. To take Shelia's hand and lift it palm upward. The soft pads of her fingers a light caress on the back of her hand. The buzz was so faint. Like the tingle of attraction. The pull of magnets. She placed the apple in Shelia's hand. Curling the artist's fingers around it. "Dare you take a bite of the crying apple?" Playing the part of Eve. Now she could, since the portrait was done. She leaned in a little closer to murmur, "I promise it will open your eyes farther than the sun can light the horizon." Was she serious? This was Loki after all. The Trickster. Mistress of Dark Magic. And that apple had been in her hand for the entire sitting. More than enough time to infuse it with any number of things. And what was this? Wylie turned with a little wink to go sit on the sofa. Leaving Shelia to sort it all out.

Oh the beauty of the moment. It could not have been more poignant had it been planned out prior, she saw her Eve coming toward her, the apple caressed in her hand. Then it was in hers, with that slight compelling push of that tingling power. Shelia's laughter came from a gut that was wrenched in excited anxiety. The thrill of the forbidden, ever one of mankind's most tempting situations, saturated her from scalp to toes. She watched Wylie drift over to the sofa, and then tossed up the apple, watching it as it rose, then fell back to her hand. The blonde head tilted, "Why not? What have I to lose but my ignorance.." and she bit into it, juicy, sweet, delicious. It burst on her tongue, the flavors mingling with her saliva and swallowed quickly before another bite was taken. If there was something more to this apple than what appeared, she did not want a small dose of it, the wanted the full monty. All of it. Consumed, as it were.

[. . . to be continued . . .]

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 16, 2009 7:41 pm

Did Wylie tell the truth within every word she spoke? Yes. What manner of truth, and how much of that truth were always the questions to consider when one mulled over the words spoken by Chaos. In the case of the apple, Wylie had intoned what the effect would be rather explicitly. Within a minute of consumption, the mortal Shelia Havenworth's two eyes would be opened with a clarity unheard of for a human. To see how she would now see was beyond the description of word, though one can try using the apple core that remained in her hand as an example. Should she look down upon it, each ridge of fruit scratched into shape by her teeth would seem its own majestic mountain range, with so many subtle lines and bumps surely it was made for art. For the tiniest of details, they were hers to see without any aid in magnification and with such a naturalness why should she believe an artist should see any other way? Because of this detail the whole world would seem to have a whole new dimension that she could ingest. Thus, the gift given on this night by Chaos was a good one - the velvet cord had been pulled back and Shelia was given access to a sight that any other artist would surely kill for. Why? The reasons were numerous, but there was of course Wylie's request for Shelia to paint details of her body that the artist felt none of her fellows would ever notice or see. How better to discover those details then but with these new eyes? And there, Wylie already on the couch. In a position that was so fetching, and yet so effortless. Arms stretched over the back, legs pulled up and resting to one side, her eyes on Shelia the prize. She spoke only one thing. "I admire your appetite, my Shelia." How many meanings that one sentence could have.

Shelia was holding her palm up like the mystery to life was contained on that surface. Perhaps it was, though it was merely an apple core, she saw every minute nuance. At first, she thought the apple was drugged. Hallucinogenics were all the rage. Ecstasy, being the biggest, that particular drug made rubbing the countertop in your kitchen a religious experience. But this was no drug, this felt like...a part of her now. Something she had taken into her body and now it made up the chemistry of who she was, as Shelia Havenworth. It was when her eyes lifted, the clear pale blue's to land on Wylie that her palm turned, and the remnants of the apple fell to the floor in a dramatic fall that had it been captured on film would have been accompanied by poignant background music. It was her mouth that Shelia could not tear her gaze from. The curve of each side, the plumpness of the plush lips, the vertical lines that gave it the unique shape. "I just...need to..." And she did not say anything further. In a matter of moments, there was a pad in her hands, and a pencil to sketch. No time to even prepare the paints or rack a new canvas, she just started drawing. The shadowed portions of Wylie's mouth where it went back into the beautiful face. This could be no one else's mouth. Distinct, sensual, and even though it was isolated on the sketch pad from any other part of her body, it was the quintessential mouth of the infamous Wylie. "Hmmm..my appetite?" She asked distractedly, her eyes singularly focused.

And that mouth transformed. Lips still pressed against one another, they stretched and curved into a position that was demonstrative of pure hedonistic pleasure. How well mortal Shelia took to her new gift. It always pleased Loki when the changes she set into motion were embraced instinctually and immediately put to use. The more Shelia put this newfound ability to such work the deeper it would wrap into her very being. Assuring it would be a permanence. Considering it would be so very hard for Shelia to not use her eyes to advance her art.....but it was a blessing to have such an ability become daily reality, no? Chaos felt it was blessing. Which is why Wylie delighted in watching this scrumptious mortal take up paper and pencil again. "Shelia...my most intimate friend..." the words were barely more than whisper, like someone trying to rouse another from sleep. But they also had such music in them, such quietly made music. Slowly spoken to make each movement of her lips its own ballet. As if Wylie knew what of her was being drawn. "Shame on you, you said my work here was done. I was very much looking forward to discovering how you play." Lips parted then. Much like pulling back a velvet cord. Luscious lips drew back to reveal her wild tempting grin.

It was the whisper that drew her eyes from the mouth that had her imprisoned in the agony of wanting, no..needing. Needing to capture each detail. In all things there are prices to pay. Shelia, now blessed with that astounding ability to see details that brought each painting to life, would also be tortured until whatever particular detail she locked onto, was complete. She nearly moaned hearing Wylie's words, the effort to pull herself from the task to look into the green eyes monumental. Then she felt it, it hit her like a rushing wind of heat and desire. Beneath the robe, her body reacted instantly. Yet, it only enhanced everything she was doing. Her own mouth curved to a smile, her tongue moved over her bottom lip to moisten and taste. The tea of earlier, the rich flesh of apple. An apple that wept for it's lack in comparison to the lady stretched on her sofa. "I lied, forgive me. You set before me a plethora of possibility and to choose only one....well it is inhumane..." The smile stretched further, blue eyes twinkling. "How do you see me playing in your imagination, Wylie? Do you fancy that I curl up and read books as my form of play, or do you see something more....intriguing?" The charm oozed from Shelia without warning. Her words laced with the sweetness that begged to be tasted, and her desire? Well it was directed fully at the one who had imprisoned her in this delicious, crazy, wonderful hateful obsession.

Details were such delicious treats. Wylie would agree with the artist on that account. For what was the manner in which Shelia's tongue traveled over her lower lip but delicious and sublime? Because of her nature, because she was Chaos many stood against Loki and accused the god of a hatred of mortals. How far from the truth they were. There was no god in Asgard who spent more time with the humans than the Trickster. "Mmm," a hummed exhale that sounded like Wylie had just taken her first bite of an incredibly decadent dessert. The couch was no longer suitable for this conversation. Gracefully she rose. The manner in which her hips swayed with a fluidity that matched each of her short steps was immaculate. Straight to Shelia. Her hand stroking through the strands of blonde hair slowly. The sensation would feel like a light rain. Her voice still quiet, still music, all secrets. "That is one thing I must insist you never do. For what benefit is there in a lie? As for what you were sketching, there is time no? If you are working still out of unease, let me put it to rest." Her hand slid from her hair to rest on Shelia's shoulder. Her other hand rose to do the same. From each palm and fingertip there it was. That promise of such electricity. The faint little buzz. Such sweet tickle. Wylie's jungle green eyes commanded Shelia's own as she gave her these words, "I promise you I will not part from your company with any sort of permanence. For I see you as far more intriguing than a woman who merely reads the creativity of others put to page."

How was it she understood it was what she needed to hear? Beyond the electric buzz that pulsed from Wylie into Shelia's being, anticipatory thrill that came with it, she needed to hear that Wylie would return. It was the most complex emotion Shelia had ever encountered. To be reassured, about something she was not even aware she needed above all else. Moving her hands through Shelia's hair, was like brushing against her soul, then that wonderful promise of more. Her body fairly tremored with it, and through lazily lidded blue eyes, she saw the object of her fascination. Wylie. Her voice grew laden with the effects. "There is time, yes. As long as you promise, then there is all the time in the world, my Wylie.." It was not quite a whisper, but far from a full speaking voice. The full mouth issued out the words like a revered poem.

It was a promise Chaos would keep. She told no lies, only forms of truth. In this case it would be a promise easily kept. But the ease went beyond the project Shelia was hired for and the fact this mortal was vessel to a god. Shelia herself make it a promise that would easily be kept. How could Chaos resist one so willing? The layers of this woman were a curiosity to her. Wylie kept Shelia's gaze. Held it in the captivating traps of her own wild eyes. If one stared deep enough they could glimpse the wild within the woman. The flickering forms of ever-changing Chaos. "My promise you have. So now my Shelia can relax." Her hand slid. Palm clasping the back of the artist's neck. The touch was light. The tingle of her electricity present. As Wylie took that liberty she leaned forward. Eyes remaining open and looking into hers Shelia would feel the touch of the lips she had just been sketching. Pressed to the soft of her cheek. With the touch traveled her energy from Chaos into artist. But it was not felt as a zap. It was a hum. Much like if one pressed their hand flat against the side of a refrigerator. A lulling feeling. To help her relax, perhaps. When Wylie drew back it was enough to say softly into Shelia's ear. "Now. It would put me at ease if you allowed me to tuck you into bed and remain until your eyes close with sleep. So that I know once I leave you will not keep yourself wakeful with working."

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 16, 2009 7:50 pm

Shelia felt the warmth from those lips touching her cheek. And suddenly she knew she could paint it anytime she wished. For they were imprinted on her brain eternally. Her eyes closed, and then the words at her ear. Did she even know? Did she understand the deep hunger she was feeding, easing the bone level pain that came with all that life had doled to the blonde beauty? A single tear, crystalline and perfect, hovered at Shelia's lower lashes, then splashed down and slid leaving a trek of moisture behind. With that release of that one tear, a wealth of tension melted away from Shelia Havenworth. Her hands were at Wylie's waist without realizing, the Grecian gown's fabric soft and cool beneath her touch, and the firm flesh beneath treasured with a tender caress before a nod of the blonde head came. The balance of chaos, was happening. To first be infused with such a gift as the apple rendered, was like a pendulum swinging too far one way, then it swung too far the other. The touch and words of Wylie had eased that swinging pendulum to rest in the center. "No one has tucked me in, since I was a child.." but it was hardly a protest, as Shelia was already leading the way toward her bed, barefeet padding across the open studio apartment toward the black wrought iron canopied bed that had ivory swaths swaying around each post. A duality of solid strength and tender beauty, much like all females. She was still trembling, but it was slowing. Her breathing, her eyes feeling lazy, even her movements were evidence of the relaxation. Mere humans were not built to handle much outside of their arena of living, but if it was done right, if it was handled with the proper grace, it was the most beautiful experience of their lives to be touched by one...greater. As was the case now. The mortal home of Amora, gorgeous and enticing in her own right, still needed that graceful handling, and Wylie was managing it splendidly.

Even when Shelia touched Wylie's waist, covered thinly as it was, she would be able to feel the hum. These first two meetings the artist experienced the power of Chaos contained in these subtle glimpses. Hints at what was to come as time passed. What would be shared between them would be more than model to paint to canvas. In time. Wylie did not move until Shelia chose to. Touching her artist and allowing her artist to touch as long as the mortal wished. Once Shelia lead to the way to her bed Wylie finally spoke. "What a crime. It is the signature of pampering. Especially in a chamber such as this." Added with one of her vixen's smiles. A beautiful display of amused envy. "I'm jealous." It was easy for her to slip around Shelia, to draw the gossamer ivory back so that she might fix the unmade bed to turn it down properly, the pillows fluffed and ready. Then a smooth gesture of her hand spoke what her words did not - 'after you'. What Wylie did speak was this. "Once you're captured in sleep, I'll show myself out." The music of those syllables carried more than the meaning of the words. Audible relaxants, to put Shelia further at ease. Help her to release herself to sleep all the faster.

Shelia dropped the robe and slid into the bed. The fabrics were cool and soothing, as was the sound of Wylie's voice. Yet, she was no robot, and the blue eyes still bright with moisture of the emotions that clashed within looked directly at Wylie, landing naturally on the green irises that she would see in her dreams, she was sure. "Why...?" One word, questions many. Wylie could choose which to answer, for on a preternatural level, Shelia knew the woman who was speaking to her in notes from an aria, would understand. The swaths of fabric around the bed shifted with the air's movement, then settled once more. The night deepened, sounds lessened. It was that time of darkness when breaths and heartbeats became the ambient noises. Each one precious and eagerly absorbed.

Stunning that a single word could fuel such a grin. Bright as lightening streaking the horizon. Now that this lovely mortal had settled against the mattress Wylie did two things. First, she pulled up the covers. To tuck Shelia in, of course, as that's what she said plainly she wished to do. Second, Wylie would also recline upon the comfort of Shelia's mattress. Her backside nestled among the soft of the covers, she used her hand to prop herself up and kept her body turned in such a manner that she could watch Shelia with ease. So many enticing angles made by this tempting temptress. A single tush of Wylie's tongue at the question. The impish smile still playing upon her lips. "Have you ever basked in the embrace of your own waves, artist Shelia Havenworth?" She let the ask hang in the air for a moment. Allowing digestion. Then, an 'answer'. The proper question is 'why not'?"

Shelia took a moment to let that sink in. Her Wylie was enigmatic in a way that pleased and intrigued. If she had answered her forthright, it would have disappointed. There was no disappointment on Shelia Havenworth's face. "I have not ...basked that is, but for the first time, I can see the beauty in it..." Then the 'why not', caused laughter to swell. It came out light and easy, and when it ended, Shelia curled on her side and studied with unabashed directness Wylie. Many emotions came and went in the pale blue eyes of the artist, curiosity, pleasure, relief, and then ....fleeting contentment. She took in a shuddering breath, the kind that comes after not breathing for long seconds, and exhaled with a soft hmmmm. "Why not....yes...why not?" Had she, as a human female, weighted herself down with too many of the world's skewed views, mores and rules? Was she boxed in to the point that she could no longer see beyond the boundaries? If so, then Wylie was her Angel. Trickster. Chaos. No matter, for Shelia she was the Angel of release, the one who could tear down those walls and let her see there was really no box, only the illusion of one.

As always. She did not mind the study. Her eyes made study in return, in fact. Watching over her. Already the mind of the Trickster was thinking about the events of the evening. The words that were spoken. The events that transpired. The gift that was bestowed. Such progress. And time so well passed. Wylie had enjoyed every small moment. At a level deeper than mere amusement. Which was the most that others could pull from Chaos. But not this one. She was pleased to find that this mortal who had seemed at first glances a piece of coal was when given the proper light a diamond that had simply been waiting to shine. A mysterious smile then. Small it played over her closed lips. "You see? So much more freedom in that. I fear the scientists and scholars are trying to ruin the world with their constant why, why, why. Artists are the ones that must take it back. For your kind above all can seize the power of 'why not'." Boldly Wylie shifted her body. She lay on the bed next to Shelia now. On her stomach, propped up by her elbows so she could gaze down at the mortal woman at this closer proximity. "Beauty, oh yes. Like cats I am no great fan of water, but I look forward getting swept up in your ocean." Her smile was like a school girl's then. With a flush to her cheeks her front teeth bit her lower lip just so. As if she was trying to keep a larger smile, or more words, from making their escape.

Wylie had the exact amount of revelation. Enough to make one curious, but never enough to fully slake the desire to know. It made Shelia's eyes crinkle at the corners in laughter. She lifted her finger, unable to resist the temptation to touch the outline of the face that was now giving her an impish look. The lip biting, the flush at her cheeks. So beautiful. So very beautiful. "I have not yet released my ocean from it's dam, where it is held in check. Yet...with you...I fear that dam is crumbling more rapidly than I could have ever imagined. Such gifts you've given me in such a short time. I see the world in a new way, I experience you on a level I never knew existed. You are pulling from me all the restraints that were carefully placed, and as you pull each one, I see delight, I see celebration in your eyes..." Her finger moved from Wylie's temple to the edge of her chin, where Shelia's finger tipped it ever so slightly, each angle a new discovery. Her eyes dragged from that chin, back to the eyes that gave peeks of what lay within the woman. "When I said that artist and model was a relationship for me, that it was more than just the obvious, little did I know, you would become my muse in every way..."

Hummmmm. That is what tingled against Shelia's finger as it touched against Wylie's smooth, blemishless face. Not a single dab of make-up upon it. This was the case more often than not. She used make-up only when the occasion called for it and there had to be a reason. Some were mistaken in the belief that Chaos was arbitrary. Unpredictable, yes. Without reason? Never. "Celebration is the perfect word. I do love to celebrate. And tonight there were so many little celebrations that we shared. At least I think so. Do you? Dams, after all." Said with a light scoff. "They're such silly things. Containing what clearly doesn't wish to be contained. What wishes desperately to spill forth. As it is supposed to be. What's in one's nature...it should never be restrained." A pause. Simply for effect. Wylie tilting her head to the side just so. "Every way? What a dangerous word. Every." A grin followed that matched her name. Wily.

Shelia's mouth pursed then..."Hmm..yes...very dangerous.." Then her hand dropped and she tucked it beneath her to consider the words seriously. "Every would include all parts of my life. Though I could see it...I can envision it. You, my muse for my art, my ability to release the pent up ocean that would drown you in it's intensity, cocoon you in it's power, yet.....I am not just an artist, I am much more than that." She smiled, her eyes caressing over Wylie. "A muse is inspiration, not necessarily the object toward which that inspiration is directed, so I can honestly say, that in this moment, I believe you have become my muse....in every way..." The excitement of being able to say that without any worry of exposing herself (for she sincerely believed Wylie was privy to her secrets, regardless) made her laughter come in low husky tones. Wylie put Shelia in mind of a beautiful fox at that moment. Enchanting and magical, sly and intelligent, the traps a fox could build due to their ingenuity were endless, and a person could get lost trying to figure out what was a trap and what wasn't. That was where Shelia had dropped one of her boundaries. She, did not care if it was a trap, for if it was one of Wylie's making, it was where she wanted to step, if only to experience, if only to let one more section of the dam fall away, if only to feel the release of another mountain of pent up desires.

When Shelia laughed, Wylie laughed. The sound of it was airy, like wisps of wind. A laugh that carried its delightful sound up, up, up. Far from any matters which sought to wait its carefree down down. For Wylie noticed Shelia drop her hand. Of course she did. The movement was so large it would be insulting to call it a detail. And the manner in which Shelia tried to reason through the word 'every' was delectable. Which is why Choas laughed. She too would participate in the rationalization with cleverly chosen words. "I think I see your meaning. I..." A tiny thoughtful lick of her lower lip with the very tip of her tongue. Wetting her word palette, so to speak. "...am the rock tossed into one small part of the ocean that is you and your life. While I may sink to the bottom of that small part, the ripples I've create in the plunge will be felt by you everywhere." That last word spoken in a titillating hushed hiss. To feel ripples everywhere was safe, was it not? A ripple was notoriety. A ripple was signing autographs. A ripple was being sought after. And so on. Surely safe? "Still. To try and reason through the shivering transformative power of 'every'...that is you seeking why. Instead of embracing why not. Your 'why not' spoke every, Shelia. Instinctually. How I have fallen in love with your crashing wave instincts. You should too." The wanting look of her eyes. The precious pout of her lips. Her words were honest. As shown by her expression. The love of Shelia was to love all that was hidden behind that damn. Like those wondrous instincts.

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 16, 2009 7:52 pm

Her mind followed along with Wylies words, and there were moments of a delicate brow drawn together gently, to a full on frown. She sat up then, pulling her knees to her, shaking her head. "No, It can't be just that. You cannot be a rock, that sinks....you are the inspiration, more like the wind. Constantly caressing through the water, without ceasing, your effect felt in every molecule of the driving ocean waves, in fact...the very reason there are waves if because of the wind's caress....and that something ..extra. Like the moon's pull on the tides, you are more than the superficial. You are the wind ...and that extra magic as the moon is, that makes it all happen. No matter what..." her hand lifted as if she had a eureka moment, then she fell back to the bed..."....is happening!" Then she understood, and laughed again. "I'm still explaining the why." So Shelia lifted a bare shoulder, and gave a smile and a slow, meaningful blink. "You are my muse in every way, and therein lies the why not.." She inclined her head as if in a bow.

To hear Shelia expound so made her smile. One of her crafty smiles laden with promise and mystery. Perhaps a flicker in jungle green eyes. So brief. A flicker of the wild. It took strength after all to keep the hurricane that was her channeled into the effort that it was now where the full power of the wild was thin in will. Wylie was not restraining herself, never restrained, perish the horrible thought. But for Chaos to unite with subtly was a monumental effort. The budding relationship of this evening make the effort worthwhile, however. "I do so enjoy the Moon. But I will say no more. I'm afraid my words are keeping you wakeful. When it was my intent to let you rest after I callously disturbed you at this hour."

There were no more words from Shelia. She had a tendency to rationalize and pick apart everything around her and that was just one more boundary that impeded the fullness of who she was. Instead, she turned to Wylie, and without any verbal cues she moved to feel what it was....to have the body she would come to adore beyond words against her own. Her hand moved up the length of Wylie's arm, into the wealth of dark hair, allowing her fingers to stroke through the glorious strands. Shelia's head tilted and her nose moved along the skin, the electricity sparking in small jolts as she did. Her mouth moved upward and the lips, petal soft, pressed against the shell of Wylie's ear, her warm breath wafted over the skin there before she hummed a soft pleasure. It was then she curled on her side, her hand remaining on Wylie's arm, and her eyes began to drift slowly closed. They would open now and again, as if in fear of knowing when Wylie departed, but in the end, they closed in finality for the night. Her breathing grew slow and steady, her muscles relaxed and within the dreams of the human house for Amora, dreams were woven that could never have been possible otherwise.

There had been a moment. Where Wylie considered infusing that apple Shelia consumed with more than god-blessed eyes. If she had, the manner in which Shelia felt the supple skin of Chaos in female form would have been a very different experience. But Wylie chose to wait. Not to refrain from enhancing a second of this mortal woman's senses, for Chaos rarely refrained. Wait was a far more appropriate word. So Shelia's sense of touch was as it always was as it stroked and explored Wylie. The hum of electricity within giving subtle little spikes of current. To make her fingers zing. While Chaos didn't move a single finger, as Shelia released herself to this silence and eventually sleep, she would have the sensation of being fully embraced. Of feeling echoes of the caresses she placed upon Wylie on her own body. Each time Shelia's eyes opened, she would see Wylie still there. Jungle green eyes still watching her artist with her lips curled into that beguiling smile of promise. There Chaos remained until the moment Shelia's eyes opened no longer. Then, without a single sound, Wylie was no more than the wind that Shelia had called her earlier. A seamless shift, the simplest way to show herself out.

[fin!]

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Re: ...Could Make Apples Weep [ a log]

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