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Nighttime Promises
Mack
Sometimes she wondered what it might feel like. Were
her lips as soft and sweet as the roses? The flowers
blossomed underneath her, silent and accepting. Their
embrace was warm. In those moments of wordless
communion between herself and the roses, she could
almost feel that otherworld beckoning to her. She
imagined being in the earth, buried beneath layers of
soil. Confined comfortably within a coffin, the womb
of death. True death. True silence. So sweet, those
thoughts of abruptly ending the cycle. Sweeter even,
perhaps, than Utena's lips.
Would she taste the blood of the heroine coursing
beneath her flesh? What was it like? Purity and
innocence, the exquisite flavor of the privileged
princess. She imagined the veins pulsing in intricate
detail, pumping her essence throughout that lovely and
untainted form. The nerves in her brain, peeled away
and stretched out so that she could observe every
golden detail, feel the moisture dampening her hands
and observe the weight of the precious innards. Try to
discern what exactly was about the girl that everyone
seemed to desire.
Desire. What a foreign and unwelcome invasion it was.
It was strange - how even the foul corruption of her
brother's touch could only serve to make Utena
appealingly womanly, rather than tarnished and
decayed. She had remembered (a shard of a portrait
long ago) those first kisses that she had stole from
her sleeping brother's mouth. The intoxication of
knowing she had done something wrong. Oh, and how she
had made him come alive. Taste the shadows as deep and
heady as the fine wine he now so enjoyed. He blossomed
beneath her with as much ease and beauty as the
perfect picks of her garden.
But now every brush from his elegant digits felt like
a brand. His mouth tasted of sulfur mixed with the
juices of women, men, angels, and demons. How often
had she accepted him inside herself, into that dark
abyss that had long detached itself from her rotting
soul? There was no real sense of time here. It might
as well been an eternity. Even when she was with
Utena, far away from his gaze, she could still feel
him in her crevice. Violating her with precise
clockwork passion. Anthy was certain he still felt
pleasure - it was his rock, after all, the only
sensation that kept his ageless body from falling to
disuse. But as for, she felt little anymore. It no
longer hurt, at least. Sometimes, she would try to
pull something deep within her brother into herself
when he reached his satisfaction, but it always
failed. It was just a ritual now.
But maybe. Maybe.
Utena was asleep beside her, her pristine form laid
out upon the bed in the manner of a wholly innocent
child. Her lustrous strands framed her restful face,
nearly angelic in its unassuming trust of the world.
True, she had matured in her time at the Academy. But
she was not undiminished. Anthy slid from her bed and
stepped around to touch her hair, running the softness
through her slender fingers.
Her caress ran down along the smooth expanse of
Utena's forehead, across her cheeks and along her
lips. The girl stirred a little beneath her, but she
would not wake. Not unless Anthy desired it. Her touch
explored the body that of her friend's (what a cruel
word) but strayed from the swell of her breasts or
between her legs. That belonged to Akio. The breath
that was pushed past her lungs, the beating of that
unstained heart.they were hers.
They were hers.
Her hand found its way to the princess's throat.
Gently, she pressed in, feeling the swell as air was
sucked into Utena's beautiful body and the quiet
release. What power Anthy held in these private
moments. Akio and his pets toiled by the daytime,
their offenses as sharp and cruel as the swords they
wielded. The green one (oh yes, Saionji) made the
blood rise beneath her skin as he made her suffer in
his petty little ways. Touga had fondled her body,
though stopped when after she had carefully decided to
breathe the slightest hint of a "U" sound (there had
only been tension after that). Theirs were the weapons
of princes, gleaming beneath an unforgiving sun. Hers
was the skill of poison, of nighttime sabotages, and
that she knew very well.
"What a sweet girl," she whispered. Were those her
words? Was she speaking at all? "So beautiful and so
fortunate. A princess who knows only adoration from
even the coldest of hearts." She could see that inner
light emanating from Tenjou, and it scalded her grip.
Slowly, carefully, she applied more pressure. In one
swift action, she could kill this girl. This unwanted
intruder into Anthy's innermost sanctum, this rival,
this savior, this friend. With one swift squeeze, she
could end Utena's life in the height of her beauty and
strength. Preserve her memory forever as the female
prince and the jewel of Ohtori.
"Don't you know, my prince?" Both sorrow and bloodlust
were rich in her quiet tone. "I will kill you in the
end. Your body will join those of your predecessors,
all whose blood I spilled. My sweet friend, my only
love. I will kill you at the very end." With a touch
as faint as the brush of a butterfly wing, her lips
met Utena's. Then, she withdrew, and the macabre
fascination ended.
She scratched Chu-Chu's forehead affectionately and
climbed into bed. Outside, the first mild rays of
sunlight were illuminating her brother's playground.
But in here, under the scope of the beautifully
illustrated stars, it was always the nighttime
fantasy. In which blood joined blood and princesses
became whores. Their realm of poison and secrets, of
cloaked daggers and toxic promises. And this it would
remain forever and ever.
Until the apocalypse. Until the end of the world.
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