From rhea@ikkoku.maison-otaku.net Thu Sep 14 13:07:22 2000 Date: Thu, 14 Sep 2000 11:24:13 -0700 (PDT) From: Rhea Seraph To: John Walter Anthony "Ranma" Biles Subject: [Contribution] Through Another's Eyes [R] (fwd) John Biles Emperor of all He Surveys http://www.tass.org/~rhea/falcon.html "I can't die now! I have to give my daughter a stuffed fish." --Shinesman Sepia, _Shinesman_ ---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Wed, 13 Sep 2000 17:08:45 -0400 (EDT) From: Trisha L. Sebastian To: Jimbo Biles Subject: [Contribution] Through Another's Eyes [R] Through Another's Eyes A tale for the Through the Mirror Darkly Amber Campaign by Trisha L. Sebastian [Warning: Lots of sexual content, and implied rape, abuse. Reader's discretion is advised. Copyrighted to Ms. Sebastian.] When I am finished, I tell her to sleep. She gets up awkwardly, the blood running freely from between her thighs, and sketches the salute. Her eyes are cold, though her cheeks are flushed with exertion. I never see her more lovely than when she is this way. She staggers over to the bed, locking herself into the manacles with an ease that has come with time and many lessons. She bids me good night, tossing her head to shift her hair away from her breasts. The bruises will fade in a couple of days. Already I long to grab them in my hands again and squeeze. My generals come in then, careful not to look upon her where she lies. They remember well what happened to the last man to touch her without my permission. She wears his memory strand around her waist, bits of flesh still clinging to it. Her breath comes deeply, her chest rising and falling with each inhalation. We talk strategies deep into the night and yet as we plan, my eyes stray to her bruise-mottled breasts. There will be no scars. The blood has dried upon her slim white thighs. I long to lick them clean, drinking down the taste of metal and life. She breathes deeply, but I know that she is faking. I know she watches me with lidded eyes, waiting to see if I will come to her in the night, showing her over and over again who her True Master is. My tunic hits the floor before I even realize it. I lift up her chin and she opens her eyes. There is no emotion in them, not even when I grab her small tender breasts in my hands, hands that have crushed other men's windpipes. I smile and start to pump. Neither of us would have it any other way. Trisha L. Sebastian tls@thekeep.org http://www.thekeep.org/~tls/spotlight.htm For me, full script is the only real way to do the job. This is because I am a fucking tyrant. --Warren Ellis