As Long as the Red Earth Rolls

They will come back -- come back again -- as long as the red Earth rolls.

He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think He would squander souls?

--Rudyard Kipling, The Sack of Gods

1412. A

Madison "Mads" Daines, born September 3rd, 2005, Savannah, Georgia

Generation dsct. Adelaide: 22nd

Age: 20

Blood Type: AB -

Eyes: Green

Hair: Brunette

Expected height at maturation: 5'5"

Life expectancy: 86 years

Father: Edward Flores, dec. March 13th, 2005

Mother: Clover Belmont, sixteenth of the Beauregard line. See File 1389. B

Current location: Brooklyn, NY

The read out was paper-clipped to a manilla folder, along with a recent photograph of Madison jogging through a tree-dappled park. A pale hand set it atop a stack like many others, far away from the target, on the corner of a great mahogany desk in a dimly lit office space.

Her file went on. It was detailed, complete, and extensive. It knew more about her life than she ever would: expected interests; likely college suitors; schedules; hobbies; skills; genetic predispositions, both negative and positive; traits specifically sought--others, unfortunate side effects; medical records, from vaccines to sprained ankles in her youth; blood work; genome; psychological profile.

It was all there.

Of course, it didn't end there. Madison was not a hands-off project for the Duchess who made her. She had come so far, this pet project of hers. The naive little girl now a young, blossoming artist, brimming with potential. She was attending the Pratt Institute--against the Duchess's best attempts to dissuade her--though her future, at least according to her professors, was bright and going to go places.

If only she knew what places the Duchess had in store for her. Would she really be so excited?

Madison stopped in the middle of Fort Greene park as the sky dimmed from the orange of sunset, out of breath from running. Sweat trickled down into her sports bra and along the small of her back as she leaned forward, hands on her knees, dark ponytail hanging off her shoulder.

The burning in her chest made her feel alive. Invigorating, and addictive -- she would never call herself an addict. Drugs and alcohol were tried, but not really her thing. The pain in her thighs, though, the fire of the lactic acid? Intoxicating. She originally started running for cross country and track back in high school. It would look good on a college application, and then she fell in love with it. Now she runs every day.

Running was her escape. Pain was her escape. Some people thought her art was an escape. They were idiots. Art was staring into a mirror and seeing every ugly thought inside yourself. Running was a way to keep them out of reach.

She made her life sound worse than it was. She was lucky, she knew that. Her adoptive parents had always been present and supportive. She wouldn't say loving, or warm, but they had always been there, at least. She had a trust fund from her father that gave her some financial stability.

Thinking about college applications made her eyes lift towards the buildings that hid the skyline of Manhattan behind them. She has been accepted across the river, at Julliard. She didn't regret her choice, though. While the violin came easily to her, it was never her true passion. Painting was a passion. Drawing. Creating something from nothing. The violin was always something her parents had pushed--an obligation. She was tired of living for others.

Thoughts interrupted by someone whistling from behind her at the view. She shook her head and tapped her smartwatch before her fingers plucked at the bottom of her bicycle shorts, tugging them down and snapping them against her lightly sun-kissed thighs before she bounced off again at a healthy jog. She ran out of the park to the beat of the music in her earbuds.

They were a welcome tool. It let her pretend she didn't hear the catcalls, the 'hey, baby momma's, the 'your body, my choice' shouts she'd endured before. She ran down the block, a sense of creeping dread continued to tease the edge of her senses, but it was beaten back by the thrum of the music. The beat of the bass. She sprang from foot to foot waiting at the crosswalk. Her ponytail swayed with each pound of a dainty foot.

"You lookin' thirsty girl, how 'bout I get you something nice to suck down?" Somebody grabbed her arm.

Madison jerked her arm away. "Fuck off," she growled. She felt for her pepper spray, reassured by the pink cylinder's presence clipped to her waist. The cross-walk sign lit up, and she took off across the street. Someone honked.

There was commotion behind her. She was halfway down the block when something grabbed her ponytail. She yelped, and the world spun as her head was wrenched back and she was being slammed head first into a dumpster.

"Bitch, what did you say to me? I know you didn't tell me to 'fuck off.'" She could barely move. There was numbness, and pain, and the person was standing at the entrance to the alleyway she was thrown into.

God, the pain. It grew behind her eyes, across her head. Her head was so warm. She reached up with a shaky hand, gingerly touching her forehead. It was sticky and wet. She pulled back to see red across her fingertips. So much blood.

Weakly, she crawled away from the figure above her. She tried to fumble for the pepper spray, but her hand couldn't stop shaking. It was slippery with blood.

"Now, don't think I'm going to let you get out of here without an apology, girl. You gotta show you're sorry." There was a chuckle. "And we're about to be alone, real good, just the two of us. Right?"

But they weren't alone.

A wolf prowled among the lambs while the shepherds slept nearby.

Madison was its project, its magnum opus.

A favored doll.

She was stumbling up onto her feet, but a hand shoved her back down, her shoulder hitting the brick wall. "Nah, I like you more on your knees."

She looked toward the end of the alleyway, blocked by the man, and then the other way where the shadows seemed so thick she could almost touch them. The shadows seemed foreboding. Dangerous. They served another master. And like them, they preyed upon the lost little lambs. Shadows almost seemed to reach out and touch her, to stroke along her body as she brushed by and leaned against the wall.

"Please--"

"--I believe she told you to 'fuck off'." The voice clipped through the air from behind the man. Feminine, strong, downright regal. There was a gloating amusement to it, but also an icy warning. Madison thought there was an accent, but her head was hurting too much to place it. It was a voice she felt like she knew, or wanted to.

"What? Hey now, I was just telling the little lady here to be respectful! Then she ran off and tripped into the dumpster."

"Yes, let's talk about respect," the voice commanded. Madison felt her hot blood in her eyes, it stung. She tried to squint, to see what was happening, but couldn't.

"Look at me. Yes, good. You have disrespected so many people, haven't you?"

"Y-y-yes," the man spoke again, but now his voice sounded strained and uneasy, like it was being dragged out of him.

"You feel so much shame after all that disrespect. They disrespect you, and you feel small. You disrespect them, and feel even smaller. It's a never-ending cycle. You know there's only one way to stop it. You know what it is. So go home, tell your mother you're sorry, take the stairs to the top of the building, and jump off it."

Silence, and then slow, sluggish footsteps were moving away from Madison. She choked back a relieved sob, and then the click of heels approached and a slighter figure now towered over her. Madison could only see the glossy patent heels and black pants as she tried to wipe away blood from her vision.

"I would have done it myself. I am quite hungry and heavens, do you smell incredible--but that would cause a scene, and we don't want that for you, do we, Mads?" There was a sigh, and a pale hand extended down to her. "Now let's get you up. Let me take a look at this."

Madison let herself take the hand, so soft and cold, yet strong as she was hoisted fully to her feet.

"Tch. What a mess." A single finger came under Madison's chin, tilting it up under an inspecting gaze. She got a glimpse of a beautiful angel with golden curls and haunting eyes void of color. An indescribable yearning swelled in her. She was like... out of a dream, or some distant memory of one; like the nostalgic feeling of a warm summer sun.

"Lean in." The hand swept from her chin to around her neck, pulling her head down. Something cold touched the gash on the top of her head, and she cried out. "Shh, shh." The voice was muffled against her hair. The angel kissed her wound, bathed in it. A tongue slid across the torn scalp and beckoned it to heal closed. But that... that wouldn't make sense. This was all wrong. She should have run.

The pain lingered, a dull, nauseating feeling, but her skin wasn't stinging like it had been. And then before she realized it, most of the blood on her face was being wiped away by a cool, wet cloth. It was a cloth, right? It wasn't her tongue... no, that would be too much. Had a stranger really just licked her face? Her hand reached up and tentatively touched her temple, finding it cool and clean.

"Do you know where you are, Madison?" The angel sang. It was a voice she wanted to dive into.

"I'm here... with you." Madison answered, voice almost dreamy.

"Yes, well, and that is where?"

"Brooklyn. I-- I go to Pratt... I do art..."

There was a derisive little snort. "And your home is?"

"It's... uhh.. my address? I think--" Madison felt the world spin around her again, and letters and numbers tumbled around in her head. She would have fallen over if not for the firm hands that grabbed her shoulders.

Holding her close with one arm, a thumb lifted to the woman's own mouth and then to Madison's, a thick warmth was smeared across it.

"Taste." The command made her lick her lips, then pulled between her teeth and sucked on it as the flavors of days in a flower field, cuddling beside a fire, and kissing in a thunder storm all ignited across her tongue. She opened her mouth for more, knowing another taste might reveal some truth of the world she deserved to know.

"No. No more. That should do enough to keep any brain swelling at bay, but still have a concussion, Madison. I am going to get you home."

Madison wasn't sure how they made it to her apartment complex. She didn't remember giving her address. Or the key code to get inside. She didn't remember much, though. Everything was still a bit foggy. She fumbled with her key and opened her apartment door, staggering inside.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" The voice mused from behind her, so innocently melodic. So charming.

"Yes, please... I'm sorry, come in."

The angel followed her inside, and locked the door behind them. Madison turned back in hesitation, something buzzing in her mind--a distant warning that she shouldn't let strangers into her home. Their eyes met and it was all she could see. She fell into them, toward the soulless black depths at their centers.

"Take a shower and get cleaned up." Whatever she was worried about was forgotten as she went to her shower. The hot water was soothing, and she finally stopped shaking.

A little niggling thought at the back of her mind, buried under the fog told her this wasn't supposed to be happening. I'm not special, just an ordinary girl with a bad headache. The water turned off; the last pink trails of it swirling down the drain as she kept her head bowed. Begrudgingly, the shower ended and she stepped out. Someone stared back at her in the mirror that wasn't her--not quite, not truly. An alien face met her own and the doppelganger recoiled as she jumped back.

Slowly, Madison leaned forward against the counter, investigating the little upturn to her nose and the heaviness of her bottom lip with a turn of her head. Eyes searched the emerald green that mirrored back, the only difference was how her left eye's white was red with burst blood vessels. The strange sense of an uncanny valley faded as she poked at her own cheek.

I'm going crazy, aren't I?

Just like her biological mother had. Madison had found her mother a few years ago. Her adopted parents weren't keen on it, but Madison had always been headstrong. Her mother was in a mental health facility, and had been since Madison's birth.

Paranoid Schizophrenia, that's what she had been diagnosed with. The doctors said its onset was triggered by the stress of labor. Their treatments didn't really help her birth mother, merely locked the women in the shell of her past self and in a perpetual drug-induced daze.

Perhaps it was the thought of that fate that made Madison wretch into the toilet-- that or the concussion. Either way, by the time she cleaned her mouth her pajamas were waiting for her, neatly folded on the counter. Slipping into them, her hair still damp, she lightly pad back into the main living area with slow, unsure steps. Maybe just an empty room and a locked door were waiting for her.

She wasn't so fortunate.

There was that grey-blue gaze again, waiting and watching. Surveying her. Not as the men on the streets did, as a piece of meat. But instead as a prized, priceless piece of art. Her art, and with it a sense of familiarity--and intimacy that did not seem wholly unreasonable. This exotic, gorgeous blonde woman in a dark suit and deep red blouse looked over her own petite form in the draping, clinging blue pajamas. Flattering, feminine, but not lewd by any means.

"You saved me," Madison whispered. "You... knew my name." She tried to sound strong, but her heart began hammering in her chest.

"Yes, Mads." Those awful, sensual lips curled into an inviting, smug smile. "I know a great many things about you."

"You knew where I lived. You knew how to get into my apartment." Madison couldn't stop the rising tremble in her voice, squeezing her throat. Her nails bit into her palms. Again, something told her to run.

"Madison," that devilish tongue called out to her, commanded her. She didn't speak to Madison, per se, but to a part of her, something deep inside her. Her words were meant to be listened to, and followed. Perhaps it was a part of that eerie aura of calm that radiated from her. Coercive, suggestive, the faint exotic, unplaceable accent tantalizing and full of promises. "You should go back into your room and go to bed. Forget this night happened."

Madison stared for a moment, then her body turned, and she walked back down the hall. It felt so strange. Worse than the concussion. At least with that she didn't know she had lost control. This was different. Soon, she was in her bedroom, and steps were following her down the hall.

"I'm just like her, aren't I?" Madison wondered, even as she lay down on her bed. The knowledge she was the cause for her mother's madness had been heavy on Madison, and aged her in ways few other things could. She didn't know why her mind was folding in on itself towards those memories, but now the beautiful woman with golden curls leaned in over her. Cool knuckles swept down across Madison's cheek and jawline. "You aren't crazy, and neither is your mother."

"How-- how do you know?" Madison sighed, head falling back into the pillow. She didn't want to sleep. She didn't. But there was a pull at her mind to do it. She tried to blink it away, even as the woman was pulling her sheet and comforter up over her.

"I know you because I made you both, Mads." Something about that made Madison panic. There was a shot of adrenaline into her exhausted body, but it was quickly submerged by the soothing touch at her temple. "Don't worry. I am not going to kill you. I gave you life to live for me, not to die for me."

Madison couldn't stop her eyes from closing. Her brows knitted with a grimace.

I won't forget this night. I won't forget her.

"Death would be wasted on something so perfect," the voice murmured affectionately as Madison drifted off.

Madison awoke to a growling in her stomach and a throb in her head that pulled her out of her dreams. That was enough to tell her that no, not all of it had been a dream. She groaned and sat upright, looking at the clock. Surely, it wasn't the next night. The whole day? That wasn't... she shook her head and rose unsteadily. She had heard concussions could affect you, but hallucinations?

"Carbs, definitely." Madison tread down the hallway just as she had the night before, bare feet lightly slapping against the warm wood.

She froze at the end of the hallway. The living area was dark, but the large chair by the window that she liked to curl up in to sketch or read was occupied.

"You're," Madison licked her lips nervously. "still here."

The tall blonde woman was holding one of Madison's sapphic romance books, and eyes lifted with an arched brow. Then slowly, she licked her finger and turned the page. Madison suddenly wished she was that book.

"If I left, I'd need an invitation to return, so I thought it best to just stay," the woman said with curious amusement. "And you were supposed to forget last night."

"Uh, and then I'd just scream seeing Barbie in a power suit lurking by my window?" Madison rubbed her head where a wound should have been but there was none. "Thanks, I guess?"

"You wouldn't have. You wouldn't have even known I was here," the woman seemed entertained by Madison.

Glad I'm so amusing, Madison thought indignantly.

"Why?" Madison insisted, her eyes catching the sight of red-soled heels laying discarded nearby. Pale, bare feet were tucked under the dark figure. The casual intimacy of it made her quake.

"You are willful. I admire that trait. Glamours do not affect you easily; much like your mother." The book was marked and set aside. "Now, come closer and let me have a good look at you." Her voice practically oozed through the darkness. A voice that beckoned to something deep inside Madison. Something she didn't know was there, until now. Words like talons, hooking into her. Dragging at her very being. As though ropes tugged at the backs of her knees, against the plush swell of her rear and the delicate sweep of her spine. Like a bug, hoisted towards a spider in its web she walked closer.

"What-- who are you?" Madison tried to sound resolute as she walked into the center of the room, but her green eyes couldn't hide the terror. Even still, she managed to stay collected enough not to hyperventilate. Willful, maybe. Stubborn, but not immune.

"So inquisitive. So many questions. Do you think knowing would make it less scary? Trust me; it won't." The woman rose from the chair fluidly. "I am your Duchess; I am your dream." Her whisper was a reward enough. It played Madison's mind against itself. She remembered then old dreams. A state worker had been concerned with them, blaming it on some early trauma. A counselor said it was part of her subconscious needing something stable. A reassuring strength, and a figure to fill a parentless void.

"Duchess..." Madison breathed, and she was close enough to notice the Duchess's rich floral, spicy perfume. That was not part of her dream. That was her, and her alone. A chill seemed to hang around the Duchess like a palpable aura, causing Madison's skin to constrict, goosebumps to rise. "That's not a real answer."

A mirthless smile tugged at the corner of seductively crafted lips. "Because, sweet Madison, the truth is delirium. A glimpse behind a curtain not meant to be seen. Knowing it, you'd forsake your ambitions, your goals, your life. All those things that make you who you are. You'd be consumed with what you cannot fathom, until it tears you from reality and you are nothing but a husk, sitting half-forgotten, until your daughter remembers she missed your birthday," she said, her tone hinting that she spoke not of Madison's future, but of her past.

"I didn't forget," Madison said, voice barely audible and heavy with guilt. She didn't forget. She had just been busy with school, getting settled in New York. There had been a lot going on. But she had said she would be there, and this Duchess knew that.

"I know," the Duchess cooed, and fingers reached to play with one errant curl of Madison's rich brown hair. "Now, eat something. I hear your stomach."

Madison was already warming up a dish in the microwave before she realized she had moved. Her anger simmered as she stabbed at the dish with her fork, too hungry to deny it. Finally, she glared from the island in the small kitchenette back to the Duchess who pursued the art on the wall in faux interest.

"I don't like it that you do that," Madison said, tossing her dish into the sink.

"Mmm, what's that?" Angular features tipped so cold eyes could glance back across one slender shoulder, surveilling Madison.

"Make me do things," Madison said, gesturing vaguely.

"Oh." The Duchess chuckled, regarding her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry. Old habits, and all that."

She didn't sound sorry at all, thought Madison.

"Why are you in my home?" Madison demanded, folding her arms across her chest as she stomped around the counter.

"Home?" The Duchess gave a short, barking laugh. It made Madison wilt. She felt mocked, and those cold grey eyes that she so desperately wanted to drink in leveled on her, and the woman stalked closer. "This isn't your home. And maybe because I pay for it--what, do you really think that father of yours left you a trust fund?"

The way the Duchess talked made her feel small, and the way she approached made Madison hesitantly draw back, step for step, until Madison felt the wall suddenly press behind her. There was no escape as the taller woman came close enough to touch and leaned in, hand thrust up against the wall beside Madison's head and trapping her.

Madison flinched.

"I am your home." At last, to her horror and relief, cool, moist lips were against the edge of her ear. An altogether erotic sensation even as this mysterious stranger violated the sanctity of her home and body. Lips were moving, dancing with wants. A cold lance of air across the side of her neck. "And I welcome you. I've missed you so, Adelaide."

Madison shivered. She didn't know who Adelaide was, but the way the Duchess said it to her made her melt. It was spoken with such reverence, such devotion. She could be Adelaide, yes. Maybe she wanted to be. The thought was shattered when a narrow thigh like steel pressed in between her legs and pinned her hips.

"This is all much too early. You have a wonderful way of ruining my plans." Fingertips danced and dragged across Madison's pajama top, causing it to twist and bunch, to be dragged up and exposing her midriff, from her lower ribs, past her smooth stomach, to the snug waistband of those satin shorts that hid nothing. She was sure the Duchess could feel her sex through it against her leg, hot and slick.

Madison whimpered. The touch was comforting, pleasantly cool as it seemed to paint lines of fleeting ice across her flat stomach. Eyes, half-veiled through long, sultry lashes watched the rise and fall of her breasts, crushed and enhanced invitingly into the neckline of her top by her folded arms.

"Are you ready for what comes next?" That voice rasped, almost mocking her vulnerability, the ease that she was cowed. And then she felt the strange, foreign sensation of twin needle-like tips dragging over her neck. They caused rosy flesh to dimple, but not yet pierce. Two angry red welts were left in their wake as the last of memories-not-yet-made were teased from her subconscious.

There was no answer as Madison was crushed in her insidious embrace. Her form too soft--too yielding, trapped so exquisitely in that firm, guiding grasp. The Duchess dragged her hand up Madison's spine. Upwards, along her rigid, arched back until lost within the tangle of her tresses. Nails felt so sharp, grazing along her scalp even as a fistful of hair was claimed. The Duchess did not tug, nor yank. She merely held Madison firm.

"Please--" Madison whimpered. She didn't know for what she begged. Some sort of mercy, even as her hips lifted and rocked themselves against the thigh. God, why did it feel like she was on fire?

"If you insist." And so the Duchess's fangs tore through her skin and with the first gush of promised ambrosia, the woman groaned loudly and deeply. Madison cried out with a buck of her body kept fast by hands and leg, her sex grinding itself furtively. The gush of blood so perfectly sweet, manicured, tended to. Madison's eyes, first widening in horror, soon fell closed and soon ruby red lips locked around the wound and her tongue flickered out.

The tongue--like electricity. A sudden eruption of sensations through Madison's body. Lightening sprouted from the wound and shot through her, hammering every nerve with maddening intensity. A pleasure so blinding it would numb her senses, beating her mind into submission and pinning her fears beneath it as a hazy fog enveloped her.

Even if she still struggled, it was futile, as it always had been. Each suckle of blood that bathed the Duchess's tongue sent another jolt through her, directly down like a warm glow through her core, soaking them with an unwanted arousal. Preparing her to be claimed.

Madison's resistances caved further, her hands falling away from her chest to lightly touch the womanly curved hips that held her so. She was drunk in some sensual landscape, body shuddering even as the life was pulled from it and she wanted nothing more than to die making the Duchess happy.

Exposed and offered up, the hand against the wall moved between them to grasp one of Madison's breasts and knead it roughly, nails biting through the thin fabric and feeling the hardness of her nipple crush against her palm.

The ignition in Madison's core was sudden and intense. She cried out and shuddered violently as an orgasm was ripped out of her. Her fingers could only curl pleading as her lips trembled. The Duchess drew back, tongue lapping at her neck and a dark chuckle came from those lips. "My, my... sweet doll, you've been hiding such delicious secrets from me."

The Duchess pulled back but kept her fist at Madison's scalp, tugging her around and then slamming her up into the bookshelf. It rocked against the wall, mementos and art books tumbling off to the floor. A neighbor yelled through the wall.

Madison couldn't catch her breath, grabbing at the shelf for support. It was the wrong choice, it only opened her body up more to those eyes--inhuman, almost glowing the darkness. "Wh--why are you doing this?"

The Duchess reached out and roughly yanked open Madison's pajama top, buttons popping and flying across the room as her soft, youthfully firm breasts bounced free and proud, pink nipples pebbled as Madison gasp. One was already bruising from the rough attention it received, red crescent moons marking where nails bit through.

"Because I am your everything, and you are mine--My child. My doll. My love. Why have I waited so long to take what is mine?" Pink tongue darted out, healthy and wet, licking the corner of the Duchess's mouth. Madison thought only of tasting it, being told to suck on it. "Perhaps I was worried you would disappoint." Eyes then settled back on Madison and the hand holding her hair gave a sharp tug. "You aren't going to disappoint me, are you?"

"N-no, Duchess. I don't want to." Madison couldn't contain the fear anymore, just as she couldn't contain her want. Her voice choked, and a tear fell freely down her cheek.

"You want to make me happy, hmm?" The Duchess lifted her hand up, brushing her finger along Madison's cheek to collect the tear.

"Y--yes." Madison could only fathom what fate was in store if she was unhappy.

"Good. Take off your shorts."

Madison wished she had been made to it. A compulsion she couldn't resist. But it wasn't. She wanted to be seen. She wanted to be touched, even as she cried. Her fingertips hooked under her waistband and she was shimmying her hips. She knew it was a show. They rolled up around her mid thighs, and then fell freely to be kicked off.

"My, you are ready for me, aren't you Mads?" The laugh was delicious, mercurial as it filled the darkened living space. "But you are still concussed, I took plenty of blood from you, and you are much too valuable to ruin this night. So instead, I will reward you with this; my name." A hand fell, nail dragging along Madison's sternum, down toward her navel. "I am Verity."

"Verity." The name was whined. Madison tried not to sound too desperate, but her thighs clenched mightily at the touch along her chest.

"Get rest, Mads. I will see you soon." The shadows softened, and she shuddered. She was suddenly alone.

It had been two weeks, and the longer time went by, the more Madison doubted it had been real.

But the bruises were real.

The headaches were real.

The suicide in the news was real.

Every night she hoped and feared there would be someone waiting at her apartment. Every shadow drew her eye with a frightful longing.

Lingering on those thoughts just made the headaches worse. With school and then work, Madison wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower, find some terrible reality TV show to binge, and fall asleep to its droning. She tiredly unlocked her door and shuffled into her apartment's darkened interior.

"Ah, Mads, welcome home." The voice made Madison freeze. Out of terror? Out of relief? Out of jubilation? A dozen feelings wrestled in her. The blonde form was mostly cloaked in the shadows with her back to the door, standing before one of Madison's more abstract art pieces that hung on the wall.

"I thought you had to be invited." Madison said, remembering the silence of the last two weeks. She resented it. She threw her keys down onto the counter and dropped her bag beside it.

"The situation has changed."

"What does that--"

"--I bought the lease." Verity cut her off, turning to inspect her. "So I invited myself in." Red lips drew upward in a Cheshire grin.

Madison wasn't amused, jaw struck forward and eyes narrowing. Her arms crossed over her chest defiantly. She hated feeling like some mouse being toyed with.

"You're angry, Mads."

No shit.

"You said I was valuable. You said I was yours. And then you disappear for two weeks?" Madison spat out the words. She tried not sound like a petulant child. Her feelings mattered. She mattered.

"Are you still having headaches?" Verity was looking over her body then, the cami crop top underneath a soft caramel cardigan that accented her eyes nicely and jeans that squeezed her athletically trim legs.

Madison didn't say anything. They both knew she had. She had one right now, in fact, throbbing at her temple.

"So--I've been giving you time." Verity started to walk away from Madison, down the hall and toward her bedroom.

Madison was a moth to the flame, following without consideration.

" I was starting to think it wasn't real. That I was going crazy." Madison's voice rose defiantly as she entered her bedroom behind Verity.

"Is that why you went to see your mother?" Verity asked, turning back to her as she stood at the foot of Madison's bed.

"It's normal to go visit your mother," Madison said, voice shrinking. Why did she have to defend herself? About that? To her?

"It's normal for a normal girl to want to see her mother," Verity corrected her, closing the distance between them. "But you are not a normal girl, and she is not a normal mother."

Her voice spoke next with a surprising gentleness that made Madison wonder if perhaps she could feel things, "You shouldn't go back-- Clover won't know who you are, Mads. I do not want to see you do that to yourself any longer. Stop torturing yourself."

"Did you--My mother--Were you--" Madison flustered, her knuckles turned white, fists at her sides. Was she getting jealous? What was it about this woman that made Madison so... desperate?

"--close, yes. But not like that. There have been scant few who I would let so near, my doll. You are special to me, yes? Is that what you need to hear?" Verity's fingers had been playing at the buttons to Madison's cardigan, and now she tugged it off of Madison's shoulders. Madison's nipples were hard and straining against the cami. She was sure Verity could tell.

"Now, be kind and play me some music," Verity stepped back again, and gestured to the violin case that sat out on the bed. She must have found it in the closet before Madison had gotten home. "It has been so long since I've heard you perform."

"You've heard me perform?" Madison moved to open the case and pull out the violin by the neck, the smooth polished wood familiar and comforting.

"Of course. Every recital, Mads. Every one." Verity moved to sit in the old antique rocking chair in the corner, casually swatting off a well-loved stuffed animal before doing so.

Some people always looked silly in a rocking chair, but Verity made it look like a throne in those pointed heels and high waisted slacks that accentuated her long legs. Madison was getting distracted again; she focused on tuning the violin, adjusting the pegs, plucking the strings, and back again. "Do you have hobbies, Verity?"

"A few," Verity remarked casually, head tilting in a thoughtful way as pale curls tumbled across her shoulder and masked one eye. "Husbandry, for one."

"Which is--?" Madison asked as she tapped the tuning fork to check the A-note.

"The care, cultivation, and breeding of livestock, my doll." Verity remarked with rote detachment. Madison had the distinct impression she wasn't talking about horses.

"Is that what I am to you? Livestock?" Madison tried to not to sound bitter.

"Heavens, no. You are so much more than that. You are my pinnacle, my pride."

Madison opened her mouth, then closed it again. The simple declaration made her feel fluttery. She didn't know how to respond, so instead she picked up her bow and settled her chin onto the instrument's rest. She decided on a light, playful song--Beauty and the Beast.

Verity closed her eyes as the notes began to fill the room and build. She let the song continue, but before Madison could begin to improvise as she was oft want to do, Verity lifted her hand up. "Enough. Play me Wieniawski number two."

Madison froze, meeting Verity's now disapproving look. Her face flushed with anger. They both knew what that meant. It was a piece Madison had spent countless hours perfecting. It was one of the pieces she used in her audition. It's what got her accepted to Julliard.

"Fine," she said curtly, settling the violin back onto her collarbone and tucking her chin.

Her fingers plucked and bow slid with deceptive ease. Madison tried to make it flat, and put little emotion into it, just out of spite. But even she couldn't deny the sway of the music and the artistry of the flow. Her eyes closed and she let herself be taken by it. It wasn't until she felt Verity's hand brush against her shoulder did her eyes snap open.

"Don't stop," that rich, honeyed voice purred from behind her, her looming shadow.

Verity's hands swept down along the sharp definition of her bare shoulder blades, lazy patterns tickled as fingertips admired the little moles and freckles. They ran through Madison's hair lazily. Madison was desperate to see what Verity was doing, yearning more of that touch. Her eyes moved to her reflection in the window, hoping to see the graceful angel behind her, but in it she stood alone.

It wasn't until Verity's hands curled around her, under her arms that held violin and bow, did she miss her first note. Fingertips were brushing against the outer swells of her breasts and then cupping them lovingly. "Whatever I do, don't stop."

Her fingers hooked under the top of her lace-edged cami and pulled down. The fabric dragged deliciously into Madison's breasts. Then Verity suddenly yanked. The flimsy spaghetti straps were no match, digging into her shoulders before snapping--a little gasp, a slip of her hand. Verity made a disapproving noise but continued to it tear off of her with a hiss of ripping fabric.

Madison was keenly aware of the cool breath against her spine now and the small of her back as Verity knelt behind her. Those chilly red lips that she had been thinking about every night now kissed the little dimples of venus above the waist of her jeans while hands ran back up her legs and over her crotch.

"Nnh," Madison lost her train of thought, and the music slipped away from her. Deft fingers toyed with the snap and zipper of Madison's jeans.

"No, no," the voice chided. "If you stop, I stop."

Her whole body shuddered and she forced herself to swallow. She didn't want it to stop. Heavens, anything but stop. So she brought the violin back to rest, and began again.

Her pants were unzipped and peeled down, and she heard Verity's coo of appreciation as her ass came into sight. Touches along her calves and outer thighs made her tremble, but she was intent on not letting the music end even as perspiration beaded across her skin. Where Verity's cold hands went, she only grew hotter.

Fingers were tracing her hips then, and dragging down the stretch lycra blend of her black panties. They were sopping wet, an undeniable fact Verity admired as much as the first time she'd had Madison at her mercy. "Lift your leg."

Madison obeyed. Verity had her step out of the clothes that now piled on the floor. Stripped, she continued to play the classical piece. Madison needed some sort of relief, some sense of control. She wanted to know what was happening behind her as Verity's palms then grabbed her buttocks in a firm, possessive squeeze.

"Spread your legs, my doll. Show me everything."

Madison groaned and lifted to put the ball of her left foot on the base of the bed, foot arched and calf tensed it presented Verity with as much freedom to do whatever she wanted. The heat of her core now exposed to the cool air of the room and the chill gaze.

Verity's hand was rubbing along her inner thighs from behind and moving to pet her outer lips teasingly. She almost stopped the song when Verity's fingers gathered her wetness on them and swept up to find her clit.

"Such discipline." Verity mused as she swirled two fingers around the little nub of flesh she found. Madison bit back a moan as Verity's hand returned to delve between her folds, and this time push deeper into her. Two fingers gently teasing, rocking in and out and they sank in to the knuckle.

Madison didn't realize she had stopped playing now, her body was quaking. Her walls gripping the fingers that filled her so exquisitely, it took her a moment to realize Verity had stopped moving. Shakingly, she drew her violin back up and began to play again.

Almost immediately a cry was yanked from her as the fingers began to curl, stroking along her front walls and quickly finding her g-spot.

"You haven't been practicing enough. It's not like I'm making you play Chaconne from Partita." But anything would have been hard for Madison in that moment. Talonlike, Verity's thumb dragging through the juices that slickened her stroking fingers and stretched up to rub it against her clit again along with the incessant rubbing within her. As if that wasn't enough, that candy red mouth had begun kissing her rear, suckling on her taut, toned cheek, teething it and making Madison buck against the hand that impaled her.

The violin tumbled out of Madison's hand, her back arching as she reached behind her and pushed her fingers into Verity's blonde tresses as fangs suddenly sank into the back of her thigh and she cried again. She came harder than the first night, overstimulated and drunk with pleasure as she stared vacantly at the ceiling.

Madison didn't even notice the trickle of blood that ran down the back of her leg toward the hollow of her knee until Verity was there, licking it off. Hand was tugged back, and Madison was suddenly achingly empty. Nothing held her up as Verity pulled away so she sank to her knees with an exhausted groan.

"Your music is as beautiful as you, Mads," Verity was walking past her, licking clean her fingers that were glistening with proof of her conquest. She turned, and sat back down on the chair, knees wide, arms draping over the armrests with wrists hanging off them. She sighed. "You should have gone to Julliard."

"You could have made me, couldn't you?" Madison's words came out hoarsely. She didn't dare move from where she knelt as her body still quivered from the sudden intensity Verity induced.

"I could have made you sign a form, yes," Verity rolled her wrist dismissively. "But after a day or two your desires would return. I had no desire taking your choice away."

"But you resent my choice." Madison sat back on her heels, managing to collect herself enough to set her trembling hands on her thighs and breathe. She was still lightheaded, but she felt like Verity was mocking her. "What choice have I ever had? My parents--no, it was you that made me take all those classes. All that practice. And horseback riding? I hated horseback riding. I bet that was your doing, too." Madison couldn't contain the feeling of puppet strings. The lack of agency. She was glaring up at Verity now.

"Mmh. What child really has a choice about their life? No one chooses where they're born, how they're raised." And like that, Madison's feelings were thrown into the trash. "You know, when you graduated, I was going to get you a Stradivarius," Verity remarked instead of directly engaging. Madison gawked at her. "What will it be now, a box of crayons?"

Madison saw red. Her orgasm now a distant memory. She picked up the violin bow that laid on the floor beside her and snapped it in half with a splinter of wood and then threw it at the wall beside Verity. The wasn't even a flinch, not even a twitch of an eye. It only infuriated Madison more and she rose to her feet.

"My turn. Don't move," Madison hissed and stormed out of the room.

Moments later, she stalked back in carrying her canvas-bound sketchpad and charcoal. She threw it on the bed before grabbing the tall floor lamp and dragging it over beside Verity's chair until the harsh light fell across one half of her, the other being cast in thick, stretching shadows.

Verity took it all in with silent bemusement, the corner of her lips now twitching, revealing a slight dimple in her cheek. Though a fine brow arched when Madison reached for her shirt, she wasn't stopped. Her hands unfastened the top few buttons of the blouse, tugging it open to reveal the shadows of Verity's full cleavage and the lily white heaviness of one breast. The silk blouse was tugged open enough so the black scalloped edge of her bra's lacy cup was exposed. Veins were glimpsed under the milky surface, filled with Madison's own blood. Her breath hitched, and she wanted nothing more than to taste and touch Verity, but she stepped back, squinting, and then went to the bed and settled there naked with her pad in her lap.

"I have sat for a portrait painting before, you know. This is tedious." Verity gave a little yawn.

"Indulge me," Madison challenged, already the scraping of an outline taking shape.

"Only because you are mine," Verity replied in kind, but then fell silent.

It didn't take long. Madison sketched at a feverish pace, smudging, fading, rubbing. Sharp lines, thick lines. Hatching that blended together. Her green eyes constantly shifted between canvas and subject until her fingertips were black and sooty. She was rising then, walking over to Verity and presenting her with the charcoal illustration.

Verity reached up to take it with an imperial lift of her chin, scanning the paper from down the delicate sweep of her nose. "You embellish. You added sadness and joy where there is none."

"Every artist puts themselves into their art." Madison replied, but she felt too far away from Verity. She stepped closer, between spread knees, and when that wasn't enough, she dropped down to kneel between them, bringing her to the same height as the illustration Verity held and leaned into her hand. "It's no different than music."

That made Verity smile, even chuckle softly. "Do you have a favorite part, my doll?"

"The lips. I especially like the lips." Madison spoke quickly, with a whispered hungriness.

"Do you now?" Verity dropped the sketchpad off the side of the chair and fully looked at Madison kneeling between her legs.

"Yes... very much so. I would like to kiss them." Madison reached up, slowly, to touch Verity's lips, her thumb sliding past the corner of her mouth and leaving a dark streak of charcoal that smudged the perfectly white skin. "I want to kiss all of you, Verity. I want to taste you and make you feel good."

"Oh, aren't you precious." And then Verity sat forward and kissed her. She wasn't sure if it was out of pity, or some reward, but she didn't care. It was everything she had hoped it would be. Sensual, firm, and inviting coolness of an incomparable taste that envelope her senses. And then Verity was leaning back.

"But feeling good is..." Verity trailed off, regal hand clenching into a fist. "One grows numb over the years. It is not a simple thing to make me feel."

"But you can? Others have made you feel." Madison's voice belied her hope. Her hands ran up Verity's thighs, onto shapely hips that were nothing like her own, pulling herself in closer to kiss at Verity's lips again, then her chin, the bottom of her jaw.

"Not in a long, long time my doll. What makes you so sure you could?" Verity let herself be kissed again, let the adoration and worship of her body continue.

"I'm special. I'm your pride. I'm not going to disappoint you." Madison repeated back all the little things Verity had said to her between kisses on her neck and collarbone.

Verity made a tssk'ing sound and tipped her head back, giving the hot, hungry mouth more room to wander. "I'm afraid I've filled your head with pretty little lies."

Madison nuzzled into Verity's chest, lips dragging against the inner slope of her breast as she remembered something else Verity had called her. "Close your eyes," she purred, hand slipping under the lacy cup of the bra to lift out the heaviness of Verity's breast and reveal its dusky, wide nipple. Verity made a contented noise, and did so, lashes falling to her cheeks.

"Adelaide is here." Madison spoke before her mouth descended and tongue lavished its attention down upon Verity, swirling around her nipple and bathing it.

Verity's body reacted as she'd hoped. It tensed, back arching. An unneeded breath sharply drawn in with a hiss and then slowly melted away. A hand ran up Madison's back, nails dragging before sinking into her hair and holding her close. Madison clamped her lips around the nipple and sucked, tongue still dancing.

"Adelaide..." the voice was breathy and distant. Verity's eyes danced beneath their lids, as though she was somewhere far away. Madison sucked and teethed at the succulent flesh while hands pulled at the bottom of Verity's blouse, feeling for the button and unfastening them.

Verity needed no prompting and lifted her hips up off the chair without speaking so Madison eagerly peeled them down off her hips. She revelled in the sight, those stunningly sculpted legs that practically glowed in the light. Her hands ran up them, leaving more charcoal smears, then between them, toward her panties--they were barely there, little more than a flimsy triangle. Madison effortlessly tugged to the side with one hand, letting her other hand stroke up and down against the pale, puffy lips before pushing up into Verity.

"You're my home," Madison said as seductively as she could. "Adelaide is home." Madison leaned back in and nipped at the titflesh in front of her, making Verity jerk and ruby lips part. She caught the sight of elongated fangs glinting from between them.

"Do you feel her?" Madison groaned, her hand twisted until her palm was up and fingers were curling with each quick thrust, fiercely fucking this goddess that she knelt in front. Seeing Verity's head tossed back in ecstasy kindled some dormant evocation.

"Adelaide. Don't stop, whatever you do... don't stop... Adelaide," Verity's hands clutched the arms of the chair, digging into them and carving deep grooves through the old wood as her body shuddered. Madison couldn't help but stare at the lurid sight, never would she have imagined this. Never had she thought she'd want to do this.

"I wont, I wont. I have you." Madison felt Verity's body tensing, walls squeezing her fingers and she looked up to find those pale, striking eyes staring down at her. Sharp, intentional breaths puffed out as abs squeezed.

Verity's hand abruptly shot out and took Madison by the throat and tightened.

"Don't. Stop." Verity hissed.

The vice-like grip on Madison's throat was agony and soon her lungs burned. Madison's vision blurred, teary with a growing tunnel vision. She felt her heartbeat thudding dully at her temples. Still, she continued, fingers curling and delving toward a prize she was told was out of her reach. She wasn't going to quit now. She was disciplined.

Even as the world threatened to envelop her in darkness, Verity came with a carnal wail--it was an entirely inhuman cry.

The hand was gone. Madison was released.

Madison fell forward coughing, spittle hitting Verity's inner thigh as her forehead fell against one slender knee, but she kept her hand at Verity's sex, fingers still but buried deep inside Verity as if she took them away she'd never be let back in, even as she was wracked with wheezing coughs.

"Be careful of the threads you pull, my doll," Verity finally spoke when she could put herself back together, fingers lovingly stroking Madison's hair.

Madison smiled faintly, wickedly, and lightly bit the inside of Verity's knee.

She wouldn't.

She would pull and pull.

She wanted to see just how far Verity could unravel.

Unraveling.

That was how it went for the next few weeks.

Sudden arrivals, and unexpected visits. Trysts under the cover of darkness. It was never long enough--always over before Madison wanted it to be, and each day after she'd awake exhausted, aching, with some fresh new bruise or marks.

So, it wasn't surprising when Madison found Verity waiting for her in her bedroom after she stepped from the shower, little towel wrapped around her and her hair pulled up in another.

What was surprising was how Verity looked. She looked absolutely stunning, of course, but that night she wore a slinky evening dress that matched Madison's green eyes. It accentuated her hourglass form and made Madison's mouth fall open with it's waterfall neckline that revealed so much.

"You're staring," Verity observed, then gestured to a large black dress box sitting on the bed. "I brought you something."

"What's this?" Madison asked, moving over to tug at the thick black bow and lifting off the lid.

"It's about time we have a date," Verity declared.

Madison lifted up the deep red and plum colored cocktail dress that lay within. It had an A-line cut and short flouncy tulle skirt. It was positively gorgeous. Madison was awestruck.

"You're nervous. I can smell it." Verity almost sounded annoyed. It wasn't the reaction she had been wanting, clearly.

"No! No, Verity. Gosh. Nervous, yes, but excited! I don't know why--" She hugged the dress to her chest where her heart was racing and then laughed. "I feel giddy like a girl going to prom." There was pause, and when she didn't get a response she added with a twinkle in her eye. "Prom is--"

"--I know what prom is," Verity almost snapped. Something behind the eyes made Madison flinch. "I'm old, not a shut-in. Now put it on, or we'll be late."

Late? For what? It was all the incentive Madison needed.

The dress fit her perfectly, of course nobody knew her body better than Verity. After all, what part of her had she not tasted or touched? The dress hid the fading bruises on her ribs and the scarred bite marks across her hip. The ones on her neck and shoulder were dabbed with concealer as Madison hastily put on her make up. She wished she had been given more warning, but soon she was being swept out and into the fanciest car she had ever seen, complete with a privacy screen and one of those useless little mini fridges.

Verity wouldn't tell her where they were going. In fact, she didn't seem in the mood to talk at all. So Madison let her mind wander, imagining all the sorts of things Verity must have done, dates she may had gone on. Not a prom, certainly. But dances, balls, grand galas? Had she been one of those women in the tall wigs and massive bustled skirts? The mental image was something.

Had Verity had dalliances in garden mazes, seducing Ladies in the courts? The thought filled Madison with a pang jealousy. She wanted to be the one to sneak off with Verity to make out during a party--that brought Madison's thoughts back to her own prom, and suddenly her pulse quickened.

"What are you thinking about?" Verity noticed the change, observant and aloof as ever.

"Prom night," Madison said slowly, puzzle pieces falling into place. "How I thought Jordan was going to have sex with me in Natalie Nunez's bathroom. How he went to go find a condom and never came back." Madison was staring at Verity now. She didn't ask if it had been her doing. She knew, and the silence was deafening. Her eyes fell back to her own lap.

"I thought I had done something wrong," Madison finally forced out the words through a wall of pain. "Why would you let me think I did something wrong?"

"You deserved better than losing your virginity like that."

Madison shook her head in frustration. "You really are old-fashioned, aren't you."

"Not in a filthy bathroom, Mads. You deserve better," Verity repeated, agitation in her voice now. Madison was glad she got a reaction. Any kind of reaction. Finally.

"And that's up to you to decide?!" Madison snapped.

"Yes!" Verity's eyes flashed. She seemed so very inhuman, then. Fangs shone wetly. Eyes looked entirely white. She was leaning in, snarling. "You are mine, Madison Daines. Mine."

Verity quickly recovered. She cleared her throat and then directed her steely grey gaze away from Madison with a sudden interest in the passing buildings.

Madison stewed like a scolded child for awhile, but she couldn't let it go. "That still doesn't answer my question. I was torn up for weeks after. I couldn't show my face around school. I was dying on the inside. You... could have made me forget it all. You could have made him tell me--Ugh, I don't know, he was gay or had diarrhea or--something! You have no idea what it's like to be a teenage girl, do you, Verity? Do you even remember what it means to be human?"

Her question was met with more silence. The statuesque woman beside her unmoving and continued to stare out the window, refusing to respond.

"It hurt. You hurt me."

"And I will do it again. I am a monster." Blonde hair fell across a pale shoulder as Verity brought her attention back to Madison.

She was insufferable. Madison swung her hand out at Verity. Not to slap. No, that'd be too kind. Her fingers were like claws, slashing at Verity's perfect, heartless, beautiful face. She hated it so much she wanted to kiss it.

Verity could have stopped it. She could have grabbed Madison's wrist, moved away in a blink, willed her to stop moving. But she didn't. Red lines welted over the side of her face, though even as Madison trembled from the shock of what she did, they faded quickly and disappeared.

Madison had desperately wanted more of a reaction, but got nothing.

"Do you hate me?" Verity asked.

Frigid bitch, thought Madison. She didn't answer, her arms folding across her chest, fingers tucked in under against her ribs, intent to sit in silence for the rest of the God-forsaken car ride. But more pieces were coming together and a dawning realization filled her with a sudden horror. Her bottom lip quivered. She tried to blink back a sudden rush of tears.

"Mads?"

"You killed Brayden, too, didn't you?" Madison whispered.

There was a reflective silence. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Anguish twisted Madison's face and she turned away to look out her own window. Maybe she didn't. Maybe it was better to not know. Maybe it was better to tell herself accidents happen.

"That boy was going to hurt you. You were a notch in his belt. He already told his friends what he was going to do to you." Analytical, matter-of-fact, dispassionate.

"That's normal, Verity!" Madison shouted, turning back to glare at the unfeeling thing beside her. "So I would have had heartbreak, so what? Shit, everyone does! Its part of growing up. It builds character. It doesn't leave people dead."

"I would rather kill people than have your heart broken." Verity said calmly.

Madison's breath caught in her throat. Verity said it with such casual dismissiveness, like it was a foregone conclusion. But she was full of shit. She did care. She did feel.

"... I don't hate you." Madison said, gnawing at her inner cheek before she looked back out the window. She should have gotten out, then. She should have ran. She was a good runner, and there were people everywhere. She'd have been safe.

She stayed in the car.

"... I remember you wore a slitted gown the color of lilacs to your prom," Verity began after awhile. "and you smelled like them, too. I remember you wore your hair in extravagant curls and had a white gardenia on your wrist. I remember you drinking that foul red beverage and vomiting all across someone's shoes." Verity nodded to herself. "But I didn't remember to take care of you. For that, I am sorry. I won't make that mistake again."

Madison couldn't help but smile, almost shyly stealing a sidelong glance to Verity. "And her heart grew three sizes that day."

One of Verity's delicate brow arched questioningly, not knowing the reference.

"Maybe you are a bit of a shut-in," Madison teased, her smile growing into a grin.

Verity met Madison's unfamiliar phrase with her own, leaning in towards her as though to share a deep secret: "Le mie colpe travolgerà l'oblio ma l'amor mio non muor."

Madison shivered. The way Verity stared at her as she spoke pierced her soul. "French?"

"Italian," Verity corrected her smugly.

"Hmm." Madison unfastened her seatbelt and crawled over the console and slid herself into Verity's lap. Bare legs straddling her, little skirts rucked up. She cupped Verity's face so close to her own. "I like French more," she murmured and then kissed Verity hungrily, shoving her tongue down her monster's throat.

Broadway.

Verity took her to a fucking Broadway show. SIX: The Musical. Madison didn't know what to expect, but not that. Apparently Verity quite enjoyed musical theater. Of course she also had to make some snide remark about it being better than those "insipid little screens".

She should have been cared more how easily Verity talked about killing for her. She should have cared more about her own pain she'd been forced to endure because of it. But she didn't. Verity was an addiction. A sweet, poisonous addiction.

It was so hard to pay attention. Madison just wanted to throw herself at Verity the entire time and touch her gorgeous curves through that satin gown. Worse, Madison realized why Verity picked the short cocktail dress for her. The thick tulle hid Verity's hand but made it easy for it to seek out Madison's needy cunt.

By the time it was over, Madison was wild with want. The car pulled up, and it seemed Verity was tired of waiting, as well. The door was flung open and Madison was being yanked inside all in one motion, falling across Verity's lap with a giggle.

"What now?" Madison gasped breathlessly, happy to play the coquettish prize.

"Now I take you back to your apartment and break you," Verity promised.

Madison shivered. Her mind alight with wonder of what bruises she would wake up with the next day and the stories they told. She wanted them all.

"Verity. I want to see all of you. Woman. Lover. Monster. I don't care. I want it all," Madison was feverishly kissing on her cheek and ear, fingers toying with the flimsy straps that held her gown up. She pulled back. "I want you to have me in your bed. Take me to your home."

Madison had never seen her struggle with anything before, but she was now. Verity watched her with a hooded gaze in consideration, then gave a frustrated sound of defeat."Damn you, Mads. You are going to make me break every rule I have." At last, she nodded in acquiescence. "But there is something I must show you."

"Every rule." Madison echoed while giggling, drunk on the knowledge she could make this monster cave. She felt invincible in her arms, and nuzzled in to nibble on the pale flesh of her earlobe again.

Though Verity was quick to show her just how flawed that line of thought was.

She was hardly invincible against Verity's attention. It wasn't a long ride, but Verity tore whatever power Madison thought she wielded and reduced her to a ravenous, wanton thing. And just as quickly, too soon Madison's skirts were being pulled back down, dress adjusted, and she stepped out after Verity, legs still feeling like jelly.

It took a moment for Madison to get her bearings as she looked around at the buildings and then craned her neck up to stare at the towering skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan. "You just wanted me at Julliard so I was closer to you."

Verity didn't argue, sauntering inside. She moved with the poise of a Queen, and she looked the part. Madison stumbled after, looking like a freshly fucked mess.

A doorman greeted them, and Madison tried not to stare at the opulence of the lobby as she was escorted to an elevator where another man waited, bowing his head deeply and opening the door as they approached. Verity silently went in and turned back to regard Madison tensely.

There was something unsettling about this place. No, Verity was unsettled, she realized. And then she felt the elevator begin to drop.

"Down?" For some reason, Madison expected a penthouse suite.

"Down." Verity agreed stoically, as though she was regretting the choice to bring Madison here. Carefully, Madison reached to touch the tense, pale hand and her fingertips crawled over her palm and then laced with Verity's own. Verity didn't react immediately, but then her hand curled and squeezed Madison's so hard it hurt.

The elevator opened out into an old tiled room. Thick pillars dominated the space, and opposite the elevator was a massive vault door, like the kind they used to secure gold reserves. Two more men in security uniforms stood at it, and with some silent command from Verity they opened it. The locking bolts were each thicker than Madison's thigh, she realized as they neared. It all looked like the reinforced space within could survive the whole building coming down on top of it.

Stepping through that circular opening was like a portal to a different world, and she squeezed Verity's hand back now, her own suddenly clammy and nervous.

Inside was a corridor of glass. To the left was a massive set of servers, bundles of cords disappearing into the roof above. To the right, dozens of shelves full of hundreds, no, thousands of manilla folders that looked meticulously organized. Before them was another door with an electronic pad beside it.

Verity hesitated before it, staring at it like it was a snake--no, a snake wouldn't bother her. Holy water, maybe? Her voice flat and indecipherable. "I've never let anyone in here."

The vault door behind them closed just then with a resounding, echoing finality, making Madison jump and hug tighter to the hard, cold arm. "I'm not anyone. I'm yours."

It was the right answer. Verity lifted her hand to the biometric scanner, and the door opened. The area beyond was pitch black. It felt like stepping into a grave. There was a feeling of death and weariness that made all of Madison's exposed legs and arms pebble over, but soon lights flickered on with the movement of them entering. It was all one open space, but there was a sitting area with fancy rugs, a massive desk, a huge canopied bed--Madison's heart skipped a beat, and there was a clenching between her thighs.

But Verity wasn't taking her to the bed. Instead, she was taken to the corner that looked like it was a treasure trove, decorated with ancient relics and art. Madison's eyes were drawn to a beautiful, delicate violin that sat on a shelf. Was that--?

Verity approached a table and reached under it. She flicked on a light that made the table glow from within. Atop it sat a few boxes, and a pair of plain white gloves that were swept up and handed to Madison.

"Put them on."

There was no quarter given, no room to doubt or argue in the way she spoke. It was as close to a mental command Verity had given her since Madison asked her not to that first night. Madison furrowed her brows, but complied. The white cotton gloves slipped on and then her hands fell to lay flat against the plexiglass surface of the desk that glowed with a diffused light. "What's this about?"

Verity carefully slid the large archival box in the center of the table toward Madison, and opened it with a reverence Madison thought was reserved for holy objects and the faithful. Reaching inside, Verity pulled out a leather-bound portfolio made of thin, brittle wooden boards and looped thong bindings. It was set down in front of Madison carefully.

"Open it."

Madison was scared of what was inside. Monstrous things? Something made of human flesh? Her mind raced as she gingerly reached out and let her fingers touch the ancient leather cover and lifted it open. It groaned in protest, but revealed its truths. Madison couldn't help but gasp.

The drawing was stunning in its details. It was probably once a deep vibrant ink, heavy in shadow, but it now faded to lovely bluish-greys like Verity's eyes. And that's what Madison admired most about the portrait of her, how the artist captured her eyes. It was stunning. She leaned in, squinting. The striking white accents of the pale skin had the lightest texturing to it. "Gouache, too. Marvelous," Madison whispered in awe. It belonged in a museum.

Verity wasn't looking at the relic, Madison realized. She was staring intently at Madison. At the little beauty mark below her ear, and the soft baby hairs on the back of her neck, and the way her eyes were sparkling. Madison snuck a peek over to see Verity smiling and blushed.

"She captured more than just my likeness," Verity sighed, and pointed back to the book. "The next one."

While the portrait of Verity made Madison gasp, the next made her dizzy as she flipped over the crisp parchment. To say Madison shared a resemblance to it would be an understatement. It looked like many of her own self-portraits. The expression was serene, though worn--older. Smile lines at the corner of the eyes. It was like looking at a future her from the past.

"Adelaide worked so hard on that. She spent days trying to get it just right. Mirrors were not what they are now, you know."

Madison stared at the woman she nearly was. There were minor differences, but they could have just been artistic whim as much as truth. She wanted to reach out and touch the details, the cheek and chin of the picture, but she pulled her hand back and delicately closed the book. "What happened to her?"

"The same things that happens to everything I touch," Verity said, voice as cold and distant as the black of the sky. "I lost her. Ash. Stardust to be made anew." Verity grabbed Madison's upper arm, claw-like grip squeezing hard enough it would leave bruises tomorrow where her fingertips dug in. "I don't want to lose you again." There was a rawness in Verity's voice, an earnestness that Madison had been desperate to hear and now she had, and it broke her.

Again. Madison wrestled with the word.

Could she pretend to be Adelaide? Had she been? It didn't seem so bad if it meant being the center of Verity's adoration and attention. She wasn't Adelaide. But what if she was? She couldn't be. She was Madison Daines. A part of her was scared of losing herself. Verity had a way of making her feel... wrong.

But this was so right.

She was Verity's prize, her special doll, she knew that undeniably.

From the moment she met Verity--before, even--she had been in Madison's dreams. She loved her, and it felt like she always had. The realization made Madison's eyes shimmer with tears as she smiled. She loved her awful, cold, lonely monster.

Maybe Madison was a lie. Maybe Adelaide was. She didn't care. What she felt was real. That was all that mattered.

"I'm not going anywhere," Madison whispered, turning in toward Verity and stepping close enough their bodies pressed together, in against the haunting angel that she had been craving insatiably all night and the cruel monster that would destroy the world for her.

"I'm not going to make the same mistake again," Verity said. There was a warning there that Madison willfully ignored.

"Mmmh... then keep me, Verity." Madison lifted her arms, looping them around Verity's neck, not bothering to remove white archival gloves. "Keep me close," she breathed and lifted up onto her toes to kiss Verity's chin, and then those plush lips were taking her own.

"Every rule." Verity growled in continued vexation, and scooped up Madison easily. Madison grinned into the kiss, leaping into the embrace and hooking her legs around Verity's slender waist as cold hands swept over her thighs and gripped her ass. She kicked off her heels as Verity began to carry her across the room.

Towards her bed.

Oh, God.

Madison almost came at the thought.

And then she was being set back onto the luxurious bed as the kiss continued and hands desperately searched each other, but Verity resisted taking off Madison's dress as their mouths uncoupled. Verity rose to her full height, pulling her gown off one shoulder, then the other, then she let it whisper and slide across every sinful curve to the floor. Her eyes were practically glowing, though Madison was staring at her breasts so perfectly shaped she didn't notice. "Verity--"

"Shh. I want to remember this. Look at you, my doll. Like you belong here." Verity smiled, kneeling down between her spread legs, hands now running up and down along Madison's knees, across thigh and calf and back again.

"On your bed?" Madison giggled, knowing how she must have looked with her hair a halo around her, face warm with desire and lips plumped from attention. She ran her tongue suggestively across her upper teeth.

"Beneath me," Verity corrected and came crashing back down to steal her mouth with another kiss. Madison groaned into it as the naked body pressed down atop her. She could die like this and be happy.

And then fangs punctured through her bottom lip.

Verity tore her head back, ripping twin gashes out of Madison's lip. Madison's cry filled the dark, echoing chamber and blood flowed readily from her lip, down across her chin and filling her own mouth with its metallic warmth. More of her blood dripped down Verity's own chin to spatter across their breasts and cleavage.

This time Verity was the artist, and Madison was her canvas. Before she could react, that wicked, violent, unforgivingly sensual mouth was on hers again, taking her lip and suckling on it, licking it, healing the wounded flesh before her tongue thrust into Madison's mouth and claimed it, delighting in the taste of her blood that filled it.

Then that mouth was at her throat, her collarbone. The little dress was being ripped off her body.

"Oh, yes. I--Ah," The world spun. "Adelaide is yours. I'm yours. Oh--fuck! Please don't stop," Madison moaned, one hand in the golden mane of her goddess, her other hand clutching at the sheets above her head as blood-slicked mouth found her breasts, lingering there, teasing with rough bites before descending farther.

Tongue was on her then, lashing at her sex, slick with blood, saliva, and her own overwhelming arousal.

"Adelaide needs you--I need you, I always have!" Madison had tears in her eyes again, almost sobbing under Verity's attention. "I'll always need you!"

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," Madison repeated again and again, writhing and panting as she was pushed to her edge again that night.

"Fuck, I love this. I love you, oh my God, Verity!" Madison came again that night and she saw stars blossoming through her vision. Her body had a healthy sheen as Verity pinned open her thighs, kissing along the inside of one, lips sucking, teething, and then before Madison realized what was happening, fangs were tearing into her femoral artery. Madison's life gushed into Verity's mouth, mightily and quick. She drank it deeply.

She would drink it all.

Madison was convulsing again, yet another orgasm wrenched out of her. She was crying tears of wicked rapture.

And then everything went dark.

There wasn't a room, there wasn't even Verity.

There was a cold nothingness and she was tumbling into it as the ice grew out from the mouth on her inner thigh.

Her last thought was that it was peaceful, dying.

But then the peace was being ripped away from her, the promise replaced by a shooting bolt of pure violent ecstasy. There was nothing peaceful about the thick syrup that dribbled down across her mouth and ignited her tongue. It was a tempestuous, feral light, blinding against the darkness that had enveloped her. It was every taste she had ever known, and more. Verity's forearm pushed against her mouth and Madison mouthed at it weakly.

Ichor was swallowed, and Madison's eyes snapped open. Her hands shot up and latched at wrist and elbow as she began greedily sucking at it. It filled her with a terrible burning, but it pushed away the frosted numbness of death. It replaced it with an unquenchable fire.

Verity kept her arm there, even as she moved to snake behind Madison and curl her other arm around her midsection, long legs wrapped around Madison's hips and feet hooking over her thighs. Full breasts pushed into Madison's back as Verity nuzzled into her hair and growled darkly.

"You're mine. My Adelaide. Mine forever."

Notes:

Title is from Rudyard Kipling's The Sack of the Gods, a poem about reincarnation.

The line in the car, "Le mie colpe travolgerà l'oblio ma l'amor mio non muor" is from the opera Manon Lescaut by Puccini (1892). It is a love story full of sensuality and explores the struggle between vice and virtue. It translated to "My faults will be forgotten, but my love will never die."