In the Field of Wild Flowers,
The Fragrance overpowers,
Making mice of men and elegant ladies sin.
In the Field of Wild Flowers,
The Fragrance overpowers,
Lustful intent rising; stability dieing,
In…
…the Field of Wild Flowers…you might lose all your powers,
So, be careful while in to avoid the sin,
In the Field…
…of…
…Wild Flowers.
The hour was late and all the children had gone to bed; all except Leon, of course, who was always too rambunctious to sleep. He was a boy of five and had always been curious; stealing into the study to get down a nursery rhyme book, or to the window to watch the candles being put out by the maintenance man down the lane, and one time, even learning to unlatch the back door to pet the dog on the back stoop! My, what a handful to keep up with!
But Matilda Thatchmaster was always up to the challenge. She was the Head Mum of the Orphanage, and watched over all of the orphans like a mother hawk. She was firm and fair and kind and loving and careful. Once, she had beaten back a would be robber at the window with a wooden mallet. (The mallet went with a wooden stake that was kept handy in case of a Vampire, of course. Everyone kept those at the ready.)
The thirty-ish Miss Thatchmaster had just gone to bed and covered up when she had that intuition of hers. It never failed her. Someone was up and that someone was probably young Mr. Leon. She flung the covers off her legs and stalked quietly to the bathroom and peeked around the doorjam: no one there. She hurried quietly to the back step and found the door still locked. She then made her way down the hall, and with her back pressed against it, eased her face around the frame of the opening to the kitchen and…
…there, climbing up onto a stool stealth-fully was Leon. He had on still clean, white flannel pajamas that were all one piece, like a jump-suit. They stopped at his ankles, so his chubby little feet were bare and there was a nice collar to keep his neck warm. He had the collar pulled up looking much like a mad concert pianist and she almost chuckled out loud. But what was he up to? She was bent on remaining hidden for the moment and observed…
…as one knee came awkwardly up on the seat of the chair, then with a straining effort, his other knee joined it. Then he carefully stood, almost falling but catching his balance, and turned to face the cupboard. She knew now what it must be, and as she saw him open the cabinet door and pull out the cookie tin, she was right! He took great pains to make sure the container made no sound as he set it on the countertop, then carefully opened it, and even more carefully set the metal lid aside. His little hand was pulling out a cookie when she made her dramatic entrance.
“Ahah! Master Leon, what have you to say for yourself?”, she challenged as she came up to him, staring down with a frown. His little bottom lip quivered, then held up the doughy circle and replied in a sheepish voice and lisp, “Me ownee wanted dish cookie.”
Her heart went out to him then, as she knew he must feel bad about now and confused. She was just about to apologize when his other little hand came up with another cookie. His arm locked straight out to her, the cookie dead center in his palm and he spoke with a smile, “Yew kin haff cookie wif me?”
The orhpan stewardess blushed and wrinkled her nose as she pinched his tummy gently, leaning close to then mess up his hair, “Of course I will, little Leon.” He bit into his and she bit into hers and they laughed at each other as they dined together. After he finished his treat, he clapped his hands up and down, discarding the left crumbs off his hands. She mocked him as she did the same and they laughed again. Then she frowned and blinked slowly to him.
Leon watched her and laughed. She looked down at her feet and crumpled slowly to the floor, her back and the back of her head coming to rest against the wooden frame of the sink. Her mouth worked a little, but no sound came out. Her eyes just stared at the little boy as her breathing was shallow. She watched as he crawled down off the chair and trotted to the backdoor, unlocking it. The door swung open…
…and by two black-gloved fingers he led Count Monzar von Hellsman over to the collapsed woman.
“Very good, Leon. I told you my drugged cookie would work perfectly, and you made it all happen.”, he hugged the lad and pulled the boy’s collar down, letting the gold slave collar show. The Slaver took out a loose device that matched and held it out for the child to take. “Now, you lock this about her neck, then we will go take all your friends, as well.”
Leon nodded big and proud.
Crystal-clear clarity, when I look into her eyes, the world shines anew,
It would be for the re-casting of lots bring all my dreams come true!
But dealt the cards and the cards came, lesser than those eyes flew,
Forced to play them, laid in front, sighing on leaned open palm blue.
I flick one over, searching the back, what I would give if it had her eyes shew.
Perhaps I shall cheat and add that card with the pretty eyes as if drew?
With casual glancing, the dealer in my sight, biding for a chance to do-
Crystal-clear clarity, when I look into her eyes, the world shines anew.
The big cities let you melt in. Anonyminity lets you hide and get what you want when Evil is the tool. It was also exciting and not the drab hum-drum of the countryside. No one really knows what lurks and works in the large cities anyway, and no one really cares, as long as their all having their own fun, right?
The tavern was packed and she was beginning a methodical stalk. Her black dress was long and sleek, shoulderless, hugging her ample, pert chest, ribs, tummy, hips, thighs…and if a males’ eyes did not steal a glance as she passed, well, he wasn’t a man, then. Her hair shimmered in the candlelights of the place, and it was long and straight, down to her mid-back. Long nails, painted red, begged for a low back to claw into. Her beauty was exotic, with green eyes that penetrated, and made people feel inadequate. Her lashes were long and her dark eye-liner made her appear what Cleopatra must have been to enticement. Her lips protruded and pouted, doting to be kissed with special attention. Her skin, a natural dark tan; smooth and silky. Svelte hips and shapely thighs, long legs that ended in black high heels with Italian-spaghetti straps that roped around her ankles. Her hands were in long, black gloves that came halfway up her forearms. And when she casually strolled about the floor…
”M’lady, that gentleman at the bar sends you this drink”, a bartender held it up for her to take. She eyed the helper, following his gesture that pointed out the suitor. He was a young man with too new clothes and uncertain grin. She shook her head and walked on without accepting the gift.
“Like I want you for my collection”, she whispered to herself as her lively green orbs scanned the crowd. “Bodies. Let me see…eenie-meenie-miney-moe…not him, not him, NOT him…”, her eyelids closed in a beginning rapturous feeling, the hunt was beginning and she would soon take a Soul, her head came down, leveled, she turned slightly to an uninspected part of the assembled mass and slid open her eyes. “There.”
In front of her was a true gentleman and ladies’ man, dapperly dressed and too comfortable. He was politely smiling a common peasant girl away. He was wealthy, too; the best woven white shirt in tailored black jacket, ruby ring, and ruby cuff-links, manicured nails and shiny boots. His curly, short black hair looked mussed but trendy, and he was 6-foot with muscular arms and nice shoulders. Nobility to be certain but no wisdom to protect against a Slaver such as she. A bee-line was made to him and he saw her a bit too late.
A casual glance from him caught her view in half-turn and she could see his breath catch. He tilted his head a bit as he took her in, distinguishing her to be genuine. He straightened his smile and stood, bowing to her as she came abreast. “Which goddess comes before me?” His eyes were playful with hers.
She wets her lips and speaks low and careful as she steals to his side, brushing against him, “Let us just leave that as a surprise til the morning, m’lord.” Her fingertips tripped slowly up his arm, where her palm cupped his warm shoulder, letting her chin rest on her fingers there as she eyed his face too close, saying nothing more. Her smile was as playful as his eyes were.
He scoffed a chuckle, quite taken aback. He craned around and looked at the staircase, then back to her eyes. “I have a room upstairs.” With nothing else said, she retreated from him, only to latch onto his hand, tugging him in tow behind her, towards the stairwell which they trotted up and into a hall above. He took the lead then, and pulled her hand into his cradled arm, escorting her down and to a locked door. Fetching a small skeleton key from his pocket, the door was opened and she immediately pushed inside, whirling around, shoving the door shut and putting her face to his chest, then staring straight up into his eyes. She walked carefully, backing him up in the room. He suddenly felt the mattress of the bed touch the back of his knees and she paused and spoke to him in a whisper, “Be very careful, m’lord.”
He swallowed and followed her thought, “Careful to avoid what, m’lady?”
“Falling”, she gave him a shove and he lost his balance, tumbling awkwardly, his back hitting the bedding. She laughed and fell in on top, kissing the side of his neck. He offered no resistance as she concentrated, her mesmerizing lips crossing under his chin to the other side. Her fingertips dipped down to her other arm, fetching out a hidden, small, silver necklace from her glove. The jewelry had been forged by Witches in an Evil ceremony, with magics in place that would take any male it was placed on and give authority to her. The command over him would be complete, and he would make a fitting trophy for her easy labor this eve. He was melting under her attention.
His palms cradled the sides of her head and ears, not being able to take more without touching back. He dipped and kissed, mouths working in steady rhythm; for both, the room spun around and around. It was all a blur as her hand with the dreaded instrument snaked up his side, to his upper arm. It crawled across the pillow. “Oh, you fool, keep up this madness to your own undoing”, she thought.
And he was lost, turning his face as he dined on her, his fingertips pushing her long, silky strands behind the delicate curves of her ears as she passed the necklace under his neck, delivering the end of it to her other fingers. Her heart raced at maddening beats as she was embracing the capture about to come, feeling his hot, hard eagerness for her pressed through their clothing against her low stomach. Her fingers turned the clasps and readied to push them together.
A soft clicking sound was heard.
He quickly took her by the upper arms, pushing her up, holding her there above him with a surprised look, studying her. She spoke short, “Well, I…” He nodded his understanding slowly.
He watched her eyes glass over and close, she began to shake and moan low. Her long hair cascaded down, shrouding his face as he inspected, still holding her tight. He admired the golden collar he had just locked into placed on her neck; it was studded with fiery rubies.
Her eyes opened a bit and he pulled her down so their faces almost touched. He stared deeply into her eyes, and their gazes locked; she could not close her eyes, or even blink. He squinted and she felt him ‘leap’ inside her, traveling deeper within, spiralling into her very Essence, that which made up who and what she was. He began gathering up the delicate strands that made up her own unique Essence, binding them together, and as he did so, capturing all of her free will to his control. After he finished, he withdrew from her and smiled, leaning his lips to kiss on her smooth forehead and whispered, “Welcome, Love.”
He pushed her up a little and saw her realization complete. He felt her sag in sudden weariness and with the loss of all Hope. He smiled and whispered again, “Welcome, Love, welcome to me.”
Her lips stammered, “Wh-…who are…you?”, her eyes searched his.
“Count Monzar von Hellsman.”
Starting out bright and polished, heart thumping, corner bumping, teeth biting down to the roar of the crowd.
Opponent glaring, his trainer swearing, hostile neighborhood and I’m given a shove, but I don’t move hardly at all.
They come to watch their Hero, not thinking of the Zero, just another piece of meat to quickly beat into the canvas.
At the ring of the bell, swarming on me like Hell, but I’m throwing back with widow-makers my own damn self.
Odds-makers win as I take it on the chin, mouth piece flying, and I take a tumble down, no chances to double down.
He should not have been to eager, counting me as meager, as I push up off the floor and bum rush him.
His aggression now at tempest, not showing need of rest, and we pound and pound like gladiators in days of yore.
He catches me again, I dip and almost spin, arching back to take yet another on the cheek, then another in my gut.
He steps close inside for the finish of the night, but in his haste he had not noticed…The Kid Was Still Throwing Back Hard.
Through the punches, taken in bunches, I delivered as many glancing blows, then I found his body, worked up to his head,
During all the fury, cocked back ready, delivered, temple strike, sweat wiped, his eyes rolled, and he fell back…
Slow motion moment, flashes flashing, spectators standing…sudden silence…and…
He drops.
Silently the three huge wooden sailing craft sliced through the morning fog towards the shore of eastern North America. All crew members aboard each vessel were forward and leaning, curious to see this new land. As the great hulls slid up onto the sand, their captain, Columbus, emerged from behind those on the center boat and, with great flair and dignity, opened his arms in triumph and proclaimed in a prestigous voice the objective of the journey, “We claim this land in the name of her majesty, the Queen of Spain!”
Suddenly a shout came from below, and all faces cast downward in amazement. There on the beach below and in front of the middle craft, stood a short, squat, dark-complected, black-haired Indian wearing but a square loin cloth and a beady bandanna. He was pointing at the ships bow.
“What’s that?”, called down Columbus.
“You crush’em surfboard”, stated the native, matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Um, we are so sorry for breaking your wave tool. We shall re-imburse you for the value.” The captain looked around, nodding to his sailors, then back to the little Indian. “Can you take us to your leader?”
The figure only pointed back at the hull.
“What’s that?”, asked Columbus again.
“Chief Crazy Elk was waxing surfboard.”
“Oh. Well, I am sure he shall be missed.”
“You no miss’um.”
Days later and the Indians had selected a new chief and forgiven the new comers. In fact, they invited Columbus and his men to a nearby village, providing them great food and drink, and treating them as genuine friends. Of course, to those who study world cultures, this sort of display always causes a natural chain reaction in Spaniards.
“They are hiding gold,”, Columbus whispered into the nearest ear. Chief Hairy Beaver lifted his eyebrows. Although a mistake had been made, thankfully there was still a language barrier.
As the sailors lounged around, Columbus watched them closely. He saw how they ogled the chests of the topless Indian women. How they licked lips and craved the perfect mounds. He hurriedly called a meeting with his men in the nearby forest glen. He spoke passionately, “These are savages, shamelessly walking half-nude in our very presence! We must, at once, introduce proper clothing to them all and instruct them on how to wear it!” The swift, painful boot-kick to his buttocks came with a voice behind him from the kick’s deliverer, “That’s from all of us, Cap’n.”
The next day found the expedition’s doctor in the village, studying the bodies of the natives around him. Although they seemed to partake of a healthy, balanced diet, and they were lean enough, their stomachs extended out something awful. Perplexed, the physician sought counsel from the Chief and asked, “What makes your people’s belly’s so horribly big?”
The Indian leader nodded and spoke. “The wise men long ago say we need to help environment.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. “In what way?”
“Planet warm up because greenhouse gases pollute. Need to stop greenhouse gases that pollute. So we stop. Everyone hold flatulence in.”
Later in the week and back on board his ship, Columbus paced and stated aloud. “Small, puny men, right?”
“Right, sir.”, replied a man.
“Wearing dreadful outfits, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Eating raw meat while their women bed men from strange lands?”
“All true, sir.”
“And their language sounds like sheer gibberish, true?”
“True, sir.”
“By the gods…this is not a new land at all. We have landed on part of France!”
The dark figure clad in all-black, chic ensemble paused to view the likeness on a wanted bill posted upon the wooden side of a constable station. His steely eyes shined a bit as he studied it more in-depth, and a smile broke. With a nod, the heels of his Italian-leather boots made a graceful arc that turned his direction to continue down the street, and towards the lighted tavern-inn that was his plan. Upon approaching, music, laughter and conversational mirth carried to the winds.
“How utterly fascinating; I never seem to tire of it all.”, he spoke low to himself, stepping up to the doorway. A final shrug and clothing adjustment made, his black-gloved palm pressed the door open and he slipped inside, casually side-stepping to the more camouflaging shadows of the near wall. As his careful attention scanned the assembled, his cunning mind worked silently.
A large-built farmer sat at the end of the bar, seeming to chuckle loud and short at everything the mature barmaid was telling him. He would be a small land owner with a bit more gold coin on him than the usual patron, for he was in town for only a weekend’s good time. His speaking companion (for the moment) was a long-term inn laborer, wearing too much makeup and perfume, gesturing too flamboyantly, which was only done to coax more lucor from the visiting patron. And to the table behind and to the side of them…
…sat a more sophisticated fellow; a true Rennaissance-type with the dress to back it up. Gold threads woven in intricate patterns adorned his rainment. This one would have access to a small fortune, no doubt. But he kept to himself with but an aid, a young lad, to bide his company. He noted the sword the man had propped against a close chair. Practicing Knight and learning squire; he knew that would be correct, as well.
Three townsmen in the corner booth playing a dice game. Unkempt in every way and all-too common. Sometimes their sudden outbursts of delight or regret overcame everything in the large room.
To the far end of the bar, busy with the task of rubbing down the bar on top and behind with a wet towel, was a youthful lass. Her dress was simple and cheap, hanging without much form. The blonde hair was pinned up, but he saw it would be quite long, and should accent whatever she wore well. The damsel’s face was fresh and clean, with bright eyes and full, pouty lips that proved enticing. She seemed awkward, as if she had just began her first job and not quite-at-ease in the social setting, and quite innocent.
“Greetings, goddess.”, he spoke low but she still jumped, startled, for he had been sitting at the bar, leaning slightly forward to her working elbow. He inspected her face and hair at the close range while she regained composure, comely lips closing from being ajar and her hand moving down, away from her mouth so she could speak. She smiled.
“Excuse me, sire, for I did not see you approach at all.” She took him in with a quick glance and blushed, not being able to avoid his twinkling eyes. “Would you care for a drink?” She really had a hard time deciding how to position herself in front of him, it seemed.
As he tugged off his gloves, he pretended to muse over what to order, then reached slowly out and took her dainty-soft hand, lifting it to his lips that, as she watched in mesmirized stance, dance across her fingertips. She could feel his warm breath and the moistness of his kisses. Tingles assaulted her body in heated waves as he asked, “Do tell me, Love…what wouldst you suggest I have this eve?”
He could feel her palm radiate on the pads of his fingers, and he canted his head slowly to the side as she lingered from a blank mind to come up with a suggestion.
Then, very soft, “The red wine here is the best there is around.”
He nodded approvingly to her advice, “Then make it two glasses, for I hate to drink alone, goddess.”
She was caught unawares and then appeared to make up her own mind. She set two tall glasses on the bar and uncorked a long-necked bottle, pouring each glass full. He could see the farmer and the barmaid were gone. So was the Knight and squire. But he had her full attention and raised both of their wines, handing one to her, making sure his fingers brushed hers in the slow pass.
“A toast, if you will let me,” his eyes sparkled as he spoke in a smooth voice, “to you, such a nice goddess for me to meet this eve.” He gently clinked his rim against hers.
She was taken aback and it showed. Finally, a blinking of her wondering blue hues led to her tasting her drink as he did his own. She did not let on, but tell-tale clues showed she had never partook of an intoxicating beverage. Even before another word was spake, a fourth of their glasses were gone in casual sips, for she had been guaging progress measured to his own, which he knew.
“Um..”, he leans closer and in a low voice, “…should we go to the booth table around the corner, since the men are enjoying their game?” He gestured to the three in the corner, and the spot he mentioned would be on the other side of the room, shielded from their view by the wall behind the bar.
A wine-led look, a wine-led mind, deciding for her, and with no experience to draw upon, brought out from crimson lips, “A capital idea, m’lord.” Around the side and to the booth, he scooted onto the short bench and casually drew her by the hand to sit beside him. Her wisdom was trying to suspect when he disarmed it with, “My, you are quite beautiful.”
She watched his stare studying her so close and a blush filled her face. She glanced down at her lap, where his hand held hers and quietly spoke. “Oh, sire, not nearly as much as you.”
He chuckled and she rewound her words and blushed again in embarrassment. “I mean, handsome. You are so handsome!” A searching look on her as she stammered to set things right, “I mean–” His lips pressed hers with his free hand behind her hair, lightly holding. She melted against him, finally learning to return the affection equally. His palms swirled on her back, he pulled her tight and leaned her back some, his sultry affections on her mouth gentle and sure, his lips overpoweringly welcome. The kissing moved under her chin and across her neck to under her ear as she shivered. Her sweaty palms pressed against his chest and moved up and down slowly. He nibbled on her earlobe, then suckled slowly, she gasped in silence and froze in place. He slowly kissed onto her neck and opened his mouth, letting her supple skin feel his hot, wet tongue as it flattened out and rolled gently. His hand came up as he loved her, pushing back the errant strands of her silky hair behind her ear, motioning her head to the side a bit more, and back. His mouth turned on her neck, his probing tongue tracing back and forth over the contour of her jugular vein. He could feel the throbbing of it, his senses heightened; she was perfect for him. His mouth opened and he waited patiently.
A loud groan and two cheers erupted from the gamblers. At the same moment, he bit down, sinking his two sharp fangs directly into the vein. Her single yelp went unheard. With her eyes wide-open, he held her elbows pinned to her sides. His lips formed a tight seal, allowing her precious vitae to pump into his mouth, which he greedily drank down over and over. Each of her heartbeats gave him fresh life, but they began to wane all-too quickly and he whimpered in protest as he still dined, as if she might hold out longer. After everything had stopped coming from her wound, he pulled out and licked what there was off her skin. He took out a handkerchief and carefully dabbed his lips, admiring her beauty as he brushed past her unmoving form, leaning her in the corner, head towards the wall as if asleep. The two puncture holes on her neck were away from view, of course.
He carefully and quickly made his way to the exit and outside. The night was welcoming. As he took a side path out of town, the swirling winds about him welcomed the end of a successful hunt, and the gathering mist shielded his hasty retreat.
Everything is fine and all is running well; no worries and time to do the things so swell.
What’s this? A problem? An inkling of an iota but not that it’s much troublesome.
Ah, another, only just a bit more than the first, still not fearing any sort of the worst.
Eegads, they multiply! Like tiny, feeding mice nibbling at my calf.
Now medium-sized and a bit less subdued, they linger on my soul somewhat, my mind all abrew.
What manner of the gods can these plagues be?! They hound me night and day, and then only increase!
How to stop, how to plot, a strategy to surmise. Whilst I plan, more come abreast and attack me by surprise!
SURROUNDED! NEXT TO DEFEATED! WILL NAUGHT COME TO MY AID?! I call out loud, beg to the world, to stop these things, from old plans that had been already laid.
No. No hope for me. No hope at all. Forgotten long ago was the last curtain call.
Black-curled shiny tresses, silken soft and framing such fair countenance; at first I had but thought, a statue.
Twinkling hues, deep and pleasing, seeking, gazing; was this figment with true virtue?
I dared look further, inspecting lips that perfection had not overlooked, and wondered even more,
Is my dream real, my delicate sirene, if only, only to call me from the shore?
As I drew closer, hand reaching out, for hers but to subtly touch;
Beating heart, so strong and such,
Then spied what made it beat oh-so-much more!
Her hair jostled in the winds, and I knew she was REAL!
And then she faded from my sight, just before our hands drew seal.
So, I search for her.
He came at me with flapping wings, red skin aglow against the perfect day sky;
A black mane of tussled hair waving, long horns curled back behind his pointy ears.
Screeching for effect as he landed on hooved feet, black leggings to his waist,
Sharp clawed hands thrusting out to me a rolled, sealed scroll;
And in it were no hopes, no dreams, but only all the fears.
With surprisingly steady fingers I took the history and did not nod;
Instead I met his steely gaze, those eyes I have seen in the dead.
He snarled a smile and scoffed at me, then lunged in the air to loft;
After awhile I opened it and was changed, irreversibly, forever.
