She watches him stare at her, his eyes boring into her form as he breathes in her scent and began to speak of a sculptor, her form tired and loathing her current position but listening to him attentively. She jumps as his finger run across her body examining her cuts and bruises, turning her head away staring into the forest not wanting to be touched by him in this way right now. Neferim had always imaged him touching her during a long elegant waltz as he sensually ripped her clothing from her. She felt dirty and used in front of him as she had been saving herself waiting from him to be her first.

She yelped loudly bursting into tears as his fingers intruded her womanhood, swiftly being reminded of the rape as the long digits rotated inside her sending waves of pain and fright through her body, suddenly turning into pleasure and desire for them to be there, her cries subsiding slowly into a soft wailing moan feeling her body heat itself despite the cool breeze brushing across her drained form. His thumb pressed hard into her clit forcing out a moan that she did not think she had, surprising herself but feeling like a common whore despite her acting on his command.

Neferim nods slightly in acknowledgement of his words, her head falling back for a moment as his finger brushes over her clit one last time. "I won't" she sighed vowing not to tell of her healing followed by a loud exclaiming cry into the darkness as she ripped the flesh from her leg, a burst of blood splattering her leg forcing her head back again in pain as the tears reappeared. She gripped the edge of the well for dear life as he poked and prodded the wound without a hint of gentle care, his fingers pinching harshly as the moonlight glints off his barred fangs.

She totters backwards almost falling into the well as his long cool tongue slathered around the wound still tingly with pain sending waves of sensitive pleasure through her body as he brushes her clit once again, his tongue dwelling in the crimson milk, thick and aromatic in the night air filling her nose with the seemingly pleasant stench as she clasps her chest trying to keep it from heaving noticeably as he touched her tired and now aroused form. She looks up at him as he stands before her, dazed and confused with the massive amounts of pain and pleasure falling forward onto her belly on the ground beside the well feeling weak and impaled by his attention to her body, breathing heavily.

Severinus loomed over expectantly while he watched her finally hesitantly comply with his orders. The scent of flesh gone sour mixed with the faint sweet musky scent of her womanhood became more apparent once her slender thighs parted. He looked upon the cruel gash critically then reached forward carefully probing the wound, his long pale elegant fingers pinching the edges of the cut and prodding the infected flesh with his clawed fingertips despite any protests she might make, his examinations were as cold and clinical as any surgeon. He began to speak as he examined the marks upon her body, his intense obsidian eyes coming to rest upon her parted petals, still red and swollen from being brutalized, “do you agree that a sculptor must, in order to ply his craft effectively, use force and all his strengths to…bend, beat and form the clay?...His hands are not gentle…they must be firm and express his desires in the ultimate work for the figure to reach the…perfect finished state,” he explained, his low velvet baritone a hypnotic sensual purr despite the coldness of his handsome pale angular features in the moonlight as his fingers lightly explored and brushed her raw tender petals. He took two clawed fingertips and lightly circled her breached entrance, fingering the tattered remains of her hymen as his smoldering dark eyes lifted to ensnare her tear filled gaze, “I offer you a gift, my apology for what was done to you under my roof…I can not undo the experience, but I can…repair the damage...” he murmured, his low sonorous tone soft as he leaned closer to her sweet yet tormented face as his long strong fingers pushed gently inside her tight swollen passage. “I can sew you up tighter than the day you were borne,” he said, his deep tone a whisper near her ear as his cool breath caressed the curve of her neck as he suddenly allowed pleasure to blossom inside her with a mere stroke of his fingertip to her constricted inner walls, mending and soothing flesh, gathering and playing with the fine nerves collected there as he exerted his power upon her. Severinus gave her a sober look as he slowly slid his long strong digits free of her quivering insides, her hymen resealing in their wake, “there is of course a price, however…” he murmured as he continued to caress her raw abused sex, each brush of his fingertip sending a fresh bloom of pleasure and sensation as the swelling went away and infection vanished as though it never was. He lingered for a long moment over her clit, pushing the little hood back and lightly pinching and brushing feather light circles over her little bundle of nerves, sending an unnatural amount of sensation to wrack her body, seemingly plucking each nerve ending and making it sing out inside her, watching her expressions intently before he drew his fingers away from what was now her perfect, delicate pink and slick little cleft. “You must never speak of what I have done or how you were healed,” he said, his deep tone cut through the night, cold and final just before the edges of his claws suddenly speared into the edges of the deep infected gash and ripped, tearing off the sickly green infected flesh that could have lost her the limb and casting it to land with a wet thump on the side of the well. Severinus pinioned her with one steely fist against falling or escape as with the other hand he plied her flesh like the clay he spoke of, kneading and forcing it together, his fine sharp fangs unmistakably bared and flashing in the moonlight at the burst of fresh hot crimson blood that welled from beneath the festering flesh. He bent and began laving the hot sweet blood that glistened on her inner thigh as his skilled fingers finished pinching the edges of the wound closed and as his tongue slid cool and soft over her skin, collecting the last streaks of blood. Her silky soft skin became as smooth and unblemished by mark or scar as if she had never been touched before. His obsidian eyes slowly lifted, seeking hers, their depths glowing with pinpoints of red like dying embers as he ran the tip of his tongue up the length of her slick slit, sampling her flavor mingled with her own blood as he slowly licked his crimson stained lips. “I trust we are in agreement…” he said in his low seductive satin drawl as he stood back to his full imposing height and casually dabbed the corners of his mouth with a silken handkerchief.

Neferim looks away from him briefly as she stands before him in all her shame, his cold, taloned finger raising her gaze to his forcing her to stare into his flaring obsidian eyes. She senses his anger from his words knowing she had no choice but to listen to what he was about to tell her and bit her lip for forgetting to address him formally as she had never failed to do so in the past, her hands wringing nervously afraid of his thoughts from the disgust on his face at her hand on his boot.

She had meant no harm in her actions but was caught off guard by his appearance. His name had rolled from her tongue to him as it had so many times before in her dreams of him, her dreams not taking into account his status but reveling in the man with the stern brow that meant strength and assertion to her. He was what she wanted. He was what she had hoped for and she felt a failure before him at that moment. She had always figured him strange, always appearing at night and his recent gestures of his blood in her mouth struck her as odd but she knew better than to question him having seen him rough up vagabonds in the club on previous occassions.

Her eyes bulge slightly hearing him tell her to lay on the well, fright gathering in her chest feeling like she had disgusted him enough for one night. She did not want him to see her that way. She was ashamed and did not willingly want to follow his order but knew the opposite would be worse. She sighed heavily shying away from his touch on her chin holding her head into her shoulders and looking at the ground as she walked to the edge of the well, sitting lady like and as calm as possible. Her heart raced within her chest as she leaned back on the post propping her leg up exposing the wound.

The wound was deep in the crease of her leg near her gentle folds, rough edged and gleaming green with infection from being in the water so long. She looked down at the wound and quickly turned her face up and away remember the words of the man that cut her there, proclaiming her would cut her womanhood off if she did not give herself to him, tears starting to pour from her face remembering his warm whiskey-drenched breath caressing her neck roughly as he rammed into her amongst the blood from the cut of the switchblade mixing with the blood from her broken hyman, her own screams defining in her ears remembering the house madam watching with the tip of the cigarette hanging lazily from her lip, other girls in the house standing at the door hanging their head in shame.

She began to sniff slightly falling back to reality looking away at the swaying branchs in the moonlight, a tiny remnant of the movement of the days animals rumbling across the forest floor. "I am sorry you have to see me this way, m'lord. I mean no disrespect."

At the whisper of his name, his piercing dark eyes narrowed to sharp burning slits in the blackness to rest upon her crumpled body, “that’s Lord De’Veragine to you,” he said curtly, his low gliding baritone a husky growl. He watched as his blood acted as a restorative, mending some of the damage exposure had caused, and scowled forbiddingly as her muddied hand sullied his perfectly polished boot, the dark fine leather he flayed and fashioned himself from an overly intrusive garou. Severinus watched as she slowly attempted to rise, his fathomless black gaze following her every movement intently with his vampire eyes that took in the minutest detail from the state and stains of her gown to the fatigue and damage to her flesh. Of course she had no idea of his true nature, none of them did save his personal attendants, his herd of ghouls, unnaturally beautiful women all, each a perfect sculpture reshaped by his own hands to look like a work of art. When she began to speak, his brows creased darkly, his pale angular features stark and savage in the fleeting moonlight behind the shadows of his long straight mass of sable hair waving in the unfelt breeze made him look like the devil himself in his ire. “She…forced you…” he murmured, his deep tone soft, yet carrying an undertone of steel as he loomed over her in the darkness while she disrobed, taking in each bruise and mar left upon her young lithe frame, “none of my girls were to be...forced,” he continued in the same low ominous tone. He could still smell the faint bleeding inside her and it made the hunger inside him more apparent as he took in the sight of her, damp, nude, harried and bedraggled, looking for all the world like Dore’s Andromeda had that beauty gone to waste with lack of proper nourishment. He reached one large cool pale clawed hand out and cupped her face gently but firmly, lifting it slightly, “you will do precisely as I say…that, is what you will do,” he murmured, his low gliding baritone compelling, his deep resonant tone seeming to reach into the core of her being and tug on primordial desires and urges undiscovered within her, yet just as soon as the sensation was felt, it dissipated to leave her wanting more. Her mortal perseverance was to be admired if nothing else and the grievance done to her was unforgivable in his eyes, rape something he abhorred more than anything else, his name and honor had been insulted and tarnished by the matron who had given the order and he would have none of it. Retribution and recrimination was indeed in order and it would begin promptly…starting with her. Severinus didn’t need to see the ragged hole left in her tender once virginal flesh, now hidden behind her hands to know it was there, he smelled it and could even smell the faint taint the man had left upon her flesh beneath the dirt and stale water. “Sit upon the well, lean against the post and spread yourself wide for me,” he murmured, his low sonorous baritone soft though carrying an undertone of command as he waited for her to comply.

“Severinus,” she whispers taking one long gulp as the blood drips into her gapping mouth, her lips dry and brittle from the cool damp air beating against her soft face. Her body shudders under his touch, the cool of his body mixing with the air and chilling her to no end. She shudders frantically as if having a seizure and finally settles next to the well placing a small dirty palm on his freshly shined boot trying to raise herself before him. He had always expected the girls to be in tip top shape on his visits and this time was no different.

She leverages herself on the well and tries to sit up and regain the dignity and composure a Turkish girl should always have and even more ladylike in his presence. She positions her back against the wall and straightens her small thin but ample frame, smoothing her dress to calm the wrinkles despite the dirt, a red ring donning the linen showing the tracing of where huge spots of blood had been. She smoothes her hair back from her face making visible the bruises and water soaked cuts that look on the brink of infection while he kneels next to her with a crooked brow studying her movements as he always had waiting on her to comment further.

She is embarrassed at her sight before him but mustered up the strength to speak no matter, having seen his wrath before in the brothel. “Madame Natalia, Sir. I was finally forced to give up my virginity and it was quite brutal. I passed out from all the blood and I woke up in this well. I just climbed out recently,” she says with great clarity and poise despite her current predicament. She stands slowly still smoothing her dress rolling the bottom of the dress neatly and pulling the damp decrepit item over her head to expose her naked form. She knew how much he valued perfection and would often seek to inspect the girls of the brothel for approval and he often requested to inspect her.

She neatly folds and smoothes the dress to the side of the well and stood shivering in the wooded area still attempting to maintain her poise in front of him, her body doused in scares and cuts from the struggle, dark bruises showing through the dirt as she speaks eloquently, “I do apologize for my appearance, Sir. If it had been my choice, I would be in the form that you are most pleased with seeing me in. I have never been at this….point with you and I am very unsure of what to do.” She clasps her hands in front of her damp and tatter folds still feeling a bit of pain in that area not wanting him to see the deep wound in the crease of her pelvis.

It was a long way from his palatial estate in Vicenza where he flashed through the forest, moving at speeds no mortal could comprehend. He was off to see to one of his many investments taking the form of a fine brothel in Marseille, the madam had not paid her dues on time, and tardiness was unforgivable, especially if she was found to be skimming a portion of his payment. There just might be a new lady of the house and a fresh bloodless corpse if such were the case and the woman thought to take him for a fool simply because he lived in a province far away. His flight was arrested by an anguished wail and he drew up short, his augmented vision seeing a bloom of heat and life huddled by a well. The figure was tiny and the warm red aura around her to his night vision was waning. His tall imposing figure stepped from the shadows, his long grey flecked sable hair swirling around his broad shoulders in an unfelt wind as he silently drew up to what he saw was a small shivering and bedraggled girl. His dark brows creased, giving his ineffably handsome marble pale angular features a demonic cast in the moonlight as he knelt before her. His long keen fangs bared, his eyes like polished onyx flashed red as he thought to make the waif a convenient snack, then he halted as the ragged apology escaped her lips. Severinus tilted her head back and pushed away the long tangled mass of her dark hair from her small round doll like features, allowing the moonlight to fall upon her, though he could see perfectly in utter darkness he had a certain particularity and high standards on just what he dined on and wanted to make certain she was suitable for consumption. She was certainly lovely enough, if you discounted the dirt and grime and for some reason somewhat familiar, then he scented the faint sweet metallic tang of blood, not the old, dead scent of menses, but fresh, from a wound the girl obviously suffered. Her eyes were glassy though, fixed and dilated, he had but one choice if he wanted to satisfy his curiosity, he bit the pad of his thumb with one keen fang and let his dark almost black blood drop into her partially open mouth, enough to revitalize her and halt her immanent expiration. “Look at me, child…tell me why it is you are out here and in such a state,” he murmured, his Italian accented velvet baritone a compelling husky purr.

And it starts.....

A small hand grips the rim of the well as a small cry echoes through its walls, the brick layed thick and solid despite the erosion from rising and falling water over the years. She is wet and cold and her legs have ceased to aid her from treading water for so long. The minutes had turned to hours. The hours had turned to days. The darkness had kept her from seeing the change of light and all passage of time was a blur.

It had seemed still like the first minutes of her being thrown into the well to die after the woman had had enough of the young girl. The other small hand grasps the edge of the well, her arms now shivering rapidly from the constant clawing up the wall almost unable to continue to hold her dead weight anymore. Nevertheless, she pulls up as hard as she could with a loud grunt and scream feeling her muscles rip and tear from weakness as her body hoisted over the edge knocking the wind from her stomach as she gasps the fresh air forcing it harshly into her lungs.

Neferim pulls herself up again with her last bit of strength falling limp on the side of the well. The fresh air bites at her cold tiny frame and she bursts into a fit of drearyness in wails of fright and pain, her dehydrated body crying out without a tear in site. Her ordeal had pained her so. Not being tossed in the well but the dread of the well itself. Being so deep in the ground without the slight glimmer of hope to get out but she had mustered the strength and had been climbing bit by bit for well over a week, falling asleep periodically to rest her mind as her body clung to the cold wall.

As her heart pours out to the sky from her broken heart, her mind drifts back to Constantinople where she had left her dying mother to venture to the west in search of something granduer. How ashamed her mother must be that her daughter was nothing more than a childish harlot that was better at her smart mouth than her trade. Her cries continue echoing through the forest of pain and anguish but no one heard her. The finality of her muddy and dirty form laying there with no one to rescue her tired bones from that point aided in her wailing.

Was she still in Marseille? She could not remember as the House mother had wisked her off so quickly into the woods and thrown her into the well. She had held her virginity long enough with her formidable sarcasm to the kind men of the brothel and the large man was aloud to plung into her without restraint as he beat her from the inside and out, leaving her in a mess of blood and the House mother sought to dispose of the body, not realizing she was still alive though unconscience.

Neferim's cries dwindle into long moaning sobs as she held her small gaunt form tightly rocking back and forth against the cool brick of the well as the night air passed over her weakened form, the moonlight illuminating her long dark tresses draped across the ground like a blanket. The last 12 days had been brutal to her form, the water of the well her only survival but that ordeal was over and another posed in front of her. Where was she and how would she save herself now? Walking was not an option as her muscles had grown atrophied from holding her body. She would die here now.

Her cries suddenly stopped as she choked on the air around her, dust sweeping up with the subtle wind as her eyes stayed frozen open. Her mind wanders back to her mother again as she mouthed her apology, her expiration eminent.