shelley_winters | Resumption

Resumption

Shelley hums happily as she makes her way up the stairs. Her long skirt brushes the floor with a faint swishing noise as she walks in time to the tune. Can't get it out of her head. Someone was probably singing it - far from discouraging music, it seems, that strange curse-thing seems to have more people than ever whistling or humming. It's rather nice, she decides.

She opens the door still singing under her breath, dropping her bag on the table before turning to shut it behind her.

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"It is not home."

Tears are threatening again. Not again. Not after what she went through to get away from him. She reaches for her glasses, and puts them on, as if another layer of defense can help her.

A calm glance, as he walked closer to her. His mellifluous voice keeping the tone mostly free of self-amusement.

"You are right. It is not home yet, but it will be."

A pause.

"Notably, I have relocated to a slightly larger estate in the mountains. It is remote, but you will not be lacking in all the comforts that the Second Age can offer."

Her hands tighten around the edge of her desk, eyes shut hard to stop the tears. Her throat aches.

Slowly, miserably, she shakes her head.

A slightly worried look as he glanced off as if making a note to pick up something at the grocer's on the way home.

"The property is extensive, but I will have to ask you not to leave the house or gardens until I instruct the Darkhounds not to tear you to pieces on sight. They are unbelievably effective guardians, though being hundreds of miles from civilization, they are usually not used."

Shelley shivers involuntarily.

It is not clear if this is in reaction to his warning, or at her current situation.

Her teeth are clenched hard, but despite her effort not to, she is crying by now, still shaking her head slightly in denial.

A slightly sad, sheepish look as Ishamael wipes a tear from her cheek with an index finger before reaching into his pocket to offer her a kerchief-black.

"Now, Lady Shelley, you will certainly grow acclimated as time goes on. Such is the nature of things."

"I don't want to."

She ignores the handkerchief and turns stubbornly away from his hand. Her arms wrap tight around her middle as if in pain.

A more insistent, colder voice as he glanced with imperious disdain.

"But you will, regardless."

"Didn't before."

Now her still-rough from crying voice is bordering on the childish as she continues to refuse to look at him.

Her point remains valid.

A quick biting retort as he snaps back at her. He spat the name.

"And there is no 'Jasin Natael' to save you, or help you heal your wounds this time."

Shelley turns, furious.

"So if you accidentally kill me again, all this is for nothing. Fine by me!"

Fury filled his face as a fleck of black flew across his beautiful blue eyes. He slammed his fist on the dresser, before pointing a finger at her face

"Such a thing is past me now. I have grown to the point that I no longer have such a weakness. If you think you can anger me into killing you then you are sadly mistaken!"

Slowly, an icy calm filtered over his features as a twisted, but soft grin blossomed on his face.

"I intend to keep you this time."

She flinches back, both at the fury he shows and the black fleck in his eyes. If anything, he seems less stable than ever before. It takes a moment before she can speak.

"I think I could."

An odd coldness to the smile on his face as he affectionately patted her shoulder.

"You will have plenty of opportunity to attempt to do so, because the only two people who you know that know where we live both serve me."

A pause.

"As everyone will, in the end."

"I won't."

She's backing again, although the desk is in the way now. If one word could describe her, perhaps stubborn would be the best of all.

An amused look on his face as he raised an eyebrow.

"You already do."

A pause.

"I am calling you, and you are answering. Not that you will be doing much serving, really. My favor affords you dominion over virtually all of existence, and it is at your disposal."

Shelley glares.

"Hardly answering. You welded my door shut."

She looks down. "And... I don't want dominion."

Ishamael shrugged casually.

"Well, you will have it, regardless."

A pause as he glanced at the door.

"Now, this can be done the simple way or the difficult way. If you come along quietly, then I will not have to Compulsion you, but if you intend on making things difficult, which might have fatal consequences for others, then I will use the Compulsion."

Shelley hates Compulsion. Hates it.

( Have mercy on her, Lady Shelley )

It's probably visible in the revulsion on her face, the tense lines of her body as she leans back from him, half-onto the desk. She wants to make it as difficult for him as possible. But better behave herself than be forced to.

"...I'll come."

A cheerful, bright smile from the Betrayer of Hope.

"Excellent."

A quick twitch of his hand as some simple weaves snapped the door open with a slight pop. A graceful gesture towards the open door.

"After you, my lady."

Ever the gentleman.

Shelley removes her glasses first and wipes her eyes on the back of her hand, before replacing them with a degree of determination. A step to the door is as hard an action for her as anything she has ever had to do.

She is white, and her heart seems to hurt with the effort not to drop to the floor sobbing as she passes him.

Ishamael slowly follows her with silent footsteps. His blue eyes watching her with barely restrained pleasure.

Loitering just off of her left shoulder, he smiled softly at her as she walked.

What strength and determination! The beauty of a flower was in its transcience, and transient she was, but the beauty of a sculpture was in its strength, and in this way, she was a flower of white elstone-a rose of soft, white curves and intricate, shimmering folds of stone.

Even now, she would still fight him, and the friction was intoxicating. Skin against skin, a passion of words, and an act of love in a glance.

With a smile, he shut the door behind them, before returning his attentions to her.

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Resumption

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