Screw all these combined people. I WAS AND AM DRACULA.
Sweeney don’t give a fuck.
Zombie doesn’t know how to give a fuck.
I’m sorry peasants. Please walk away.
It had been about three months since Erik had asked her to be his bride; she’d lived every day in comfortable bliss spending as much time as she could with him. Though, her disease had flared once or twice leaving her bed ridden with Erik always at her side. Her skin covered in thick dry scales, it cracked and burned for days on end. Though, like most things it passed and her skin returned its exquisite softness and she returned to business as usual. Though she felt strange like a great change were in the air; though there were many logical explanations: she’d become a bride to be, the Opera had just began and was completely populated—she could not put her finger on the source of the oddness.
It was a cold January morning and she’d left the Opera house to attend her daily business, meeting with partners, seeing investors, rubbing elbows with the well-to-dos of France. Snow, riddled the streets still and she avoided the patches of ice on the ground with grace and swiftness. It was an ordinary morning that led into an ordinary afternoon. This afternoon lead into an ordinary evening.
Alexandria sat in her room waiting for Erik’s nightly arrival at her mirror. She was finishing up letters to old friends and family members—but still could not shake the unsettling feeling. It was written on her face and dimmed the light in her eyes. Something was making her stomach sour, something was about to change.
She couldn’t believe the noise that came from her mouth. She kept singing and singing and then silence, what had just happened? Did he manipulate her vocal chords, why hadn’t she been able to make this pleasing sound before she met him? She’d seen hundreds of vocal coaches. Maybe, they were both drunk enough to believe that her voice had really suddenly become beautiful.
She leaned into his kiss, pushing it further; her arms flowed like liquid snaking around his neck. She swung a leg over to straddle the bench of the piano and she kissed him deeper and deeper still. Her mouth willed his open and her curious tongue slipped inside. She was excited by her own voice, the dark deep female voice she could hardly believe was hers, and the way the sounds entwined with his was intoxicating — breathtaking.
Her drunken mind had been made; the time for song and dance was over. She wanted her sloppy drunk sex and she wanted it right then. She released his mouth from hers and began to kiss down his jawline, her hands drunkenly pulling at his clothes, “You got me to sing,” She said breathlessly, “Now do it again.” She took up one of his hands and gripped her breast with it, “Make me cum with your voice.” It was an urgent plea to him, a fantasy that she’d kept locked away, “Make me cum with your music and then take me. I am your bride, I am your life.” She said biting and sucking his neck, her free hand began to stroke between his legs.
He sent a shiver down her spine, “You can fuck my customs.” It was a weak response, but adequate enough the moment. Between her legs began to warm and moisten, the excitement had started brewing. She wanted her Opera Ghost, but would wait until they’d had their drunken fun.
She laughed with him, her sensual dark laughter. Her laugh was like black silks being slowly pulled across the forearm, it was smooth and seductive but also soft. She laughed until her face was red. She enjoyed his company so much and realized that this was the reason she wanted to be with him, because she did not have to wear a mask around him. She could be simply Alexandria—no business, no disease, no cares. She was his and he was hers.
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She couldn’t believe the noise that came from her mouth. She kept singing and singing and then silence, what had just happened? Did he manipulate her vocal chords, why hadn’t she been able to make this pleasing sound before she met him? She’d seen hundreds of vocal coaches. Maybe, they were both drunk enough to believe that her voice had really suddenly become beautiful.
She leaned into his kiss, pushing it further; her arms flowed like liquid snaking around his neck. She swung a leg over to straddle the bench of the piano and she kissed him deeper and deeper still. Her mouth willed his open and her curious tongue slipped inside. She was excited by her own voice, the dark deep female voice she could hardly believe was hers, and the way the sounds entwined with his was intoxicating — breathtaking.
Her drunken mind had been made; the time for song and dance was over. She wanted her sloppy drunk sex and she wanted it right then. She released his mouth from hers and began to kiss down his jawline, her hands drunkenly pulling at his clothes, “You got me to sing,” She said breathlessly, “Now do it again.” She took up one of his hands and gripped her breast with it, “Make me cum with your voice.” It was an urgent plea to him, a fantasy that she’d kept locked away, “Make me cum with your music and then take me. I am your bride, I am your life.” She said biting and sucking his neck, her free hand began to stroke between his legs.
She eyed him closely as he tipped the bottle back, her mouth fell open and she laughed. His lips were warm on her cheek and it made her skin turn pink beneath them, his lips were one of his best features. She stared at him as he downed the rest of the bottle. “You know, there…
He sent a shiver down her spine, “You can fuck my customs.” It was a weak response, but adequate enough the moment. Between her legs began to warm and moisten, the excitement had started brewing. She wanted her Opera Ghost, but would wait until they’d had their drunken fun.
She laughed with him, her sensual dark laughter. Her laugh was like black silks being slowly pulled across the forearm, it was smooth and seductive but also soft. She laughed until her face was red. She enjoyed his company so much and realized that this was the reason she wanted to be with him, because she did not have to wear a mask around him. She could be simply Alexandria—no business, no disease, no cares. She was his and he was hers.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sing Erik, many people have taught me how to sing. My voice just isn’t made for singing, my fingers however are made for instruments—-hand me any instrument you can think of and I can play it.” She raised an eyebrow at him, “Make me sing? Please, make me. Hopefully it is with your cock.” She reached down and gave him a playful squeeze. “I suppose, I’ll play your little game…we’ll try to get me to sing. When I fail, please pretend it is alright.”
She opened her mouth and what came out shocked her, effortlessly her voice obeyed—-the dark tones of her voice filled the room, it was as if an angel had taken up residence in her tonsils. The sound was unnatural and unholy, but still pure and earthbound. With her green eyes widened she continued to make the sickeningly beautiful noise, she continued to sing.
Alexandria watched him the entire time, her eyes fixated on his lips. This was the sound she coveted, every note—every syllable. It was hers to keep forever now, he was her music box. It was almost entirely too disturbing for her to think about that she could wind him up and…
She eyed him closely as he tipped the bottle back, her mouth fell open and she laughed. His lips were warm on her cheek and it made her skin turn pink beneath them, his lips were one of his best features. She stared at him as he downed the rest of the bottle. “You know, there is this thing that we do, it is called sharing. Perhaps, you should look into it; it is a very widespread custom.”
She frowned at him, “Drunken sex is quite possibly the worst sex to be had. It is sloppy and regrettable. So, I will not have beautiful drunk sex with you, I will have sloppy sex with you. Because that is all drunk sex is. But I don’t mind to have it with you. I suppose this is a competition now.” She raised the bottle of wine to her lips. “Let’s see if I can do it without spilling.”
She tipped the bottle back, wide eyed—shocked that she were actually about to try to drink an entire bottle of wine. It wasn’t hard, without a gag reflex and the determination of a solider for her to finish the entire bottle of wine. After she’d finished she shook the bottle in front of him and smiled, she put it down on the piano and popped the cork off the champagne, with little mess. “We will share this one, though; you’re likely to be drunk faster than I am.”
After about twenty minutes Alexandria was drunk, but not too drunk. She was drunk enough to have not a care in the world but still sober enough to stand—even if she leaned slightly to the left just a little bit. She sat down at the piano and began to play a light tune, “Teach me to sing, Opera Ghost. Teach me to sing. It is the only thing I can’t do..”
29/50 {Vivien Leigh}
The music was still ringing in her ears when he spoke, she almost didn’t hear him. She was lost in thought, everything was near and faraway at the same time. My parents, I have parents—they are alive, they sold me. They aren’t worthy of me, they weren’t; but what if they want…
Alexandria watched him the entire time, her eyes fixated on his lips. This was the sound she coveted, every note—every syllable. It was hers to keep forever now, he was her music box. It was almost entirely too disturbing for her to think about that she could wind him up and make him play. All he needed was a windup, but no he was her magical creature—a toy to play with. In the back of her mind she wondered if she’d ever tire of him. But it was true love fate. They were put together to be together, she wouldn’t want it any other way but she feared by some human flaw she might not ever be enough for him—after all she would grow old and wrinkled and die.
He’d written for her. It was charming, heartfelt and warm. Almost surreal to her, listening to the words about them come from his mouth. She smiled and clapped for him when he was finished, it was a lovely song. She wished she’d prepared something for him. Her fingers moved mindlessly over the keys, providing a light back story to their conversation. “I really do wish I could sing.” They’d attempted many frustrating times to teach her, but always to no avail—it seemed that regardless of the years of heavy smoking she was just not blessed with the gift of song.
“You know, perhaps, if you’re not opposed, I say we get terribly drunk. I think that is fitting for the rest of the evening. “ She stopped playing and made her way to the liquor cabinet and smiled. She removed three bottles of wine, a fifth of whiskey and one bottle of champagne. “Your choice—remember brandy is dandy but liquor is quicker.” She chuckled softly and lined the bottles up on the piano, she opened a bottle of wine and held it with one hand. She then began to softly play with one hand and drink straight from the bottle with the other.
