communion [meeting]

“All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream.” - Edgar Allan Poe

The Huge carved wooden door closes with a soft thud behind me, severing the icy tendrils of mist that swirled around my feet as I stepped inside. The frigid gust of wind that snuck inside with me, rushes down the aisles to caress the flickering tongues of the candles throwing the shadows on the wall into a phantasmal dance. I pause for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the low light before I start to make my way forward. My footsteps echo sharply within the great walls like the crack of a whip and I wonder if she is here, as promised. Drawing closer to the front, I make out a seated figure wrappd in a cloak, embraced by her long dark hair falling like a shawl upon her shoulders. Even though she knows that I have come, she does not move, instead staring straight ahead, back arched and rigid, her head slightly bowed. I slip into the pew behind her, kneeling on the bench and lean towards her.

"Good evening m'lady. I am glad you are here"

Eleana stiffens almost imperceptibly as her head bows even further, a stray wisp of her red hair folding gently across her right cheek. "I did not have a choice", she whispers, her voice low and breathless like the swaying flames of the candles that provide the only light inside this church.
My lips curl upwards in a sinister smile as I lean closer and with my left hand pick up her hair moving it away from her neck, exposing the black velvet band around her pale white throat. She draws in a sharp breath from between clenched teeth as my lips make contact with her hot flesh, just below her ear lobe. I growl, low and feral against the side of her neck bringing my right hand to gently wrap it around her throat. I can feel her pulse flutter beneath my palm like the thrumm of a small bird caught in a net and she whimpers softly raising her head, extending her neck, submitting to my actions. Her breasts rise and fall with every deep breath as a warm flush spreads across them and yet her hands remain clasped on her lap, her back still straight, a poise of demure docility.

On the walls a hundred spectral apparitions slowly end their tortuous dance to hover in anticipation, gazing down at the unfolding scene below them, soft whispers rising upwards to the caverneous ceiling. Still kneeling behind her, as if at worship, my thumb and forefinger graze along the edge of the collar, my palm catching momentarily at the small metallic dirk dangling against her jagular notch...