Thread: Of Desire

His body couldn't help the literal shudder that came over it as his cold fingers brushed aside the heavy fabric that hung down from above, acting as a makeshift dressing room door. His body felt a shudder course through it, and when he brushed that multi-colored, multi-layered gypsy cloth of a doorway, when he caught first glimpse of the young woman's pale shoulders and back, knowing what he was about to do...there were butterflies. Butterflies! It had been at least four decades now since something had excited him so. It was a shame, really, when one considered the soon-to-be context. She is the one I want, Konstantin said calmly, his eyes icy, his face stoic and sleek. All of his body was, really, shoulders standing tall yet relaxed. He was standing upon grass, as all the floor here was of the earth, beneath the spires of a fairly-sized circus tent. Stretching across all of Russia by the year 1854 were a great number of traveling acts such as this, yet few were as heard of as Cirque de Fichu and, as word had it, it was largely thanks to a single, lovely bird that soared de Fichu above the rest. A young acrobat, he had watched her solo performance for the first time six days ago, wholly enthralled. His head had tilted slightly to a side. His eyes had been caught in a gaze. Pale skin performed before him, mixing acrobatics and dance, mixing sensuality and innocence, and before even that talent, before that intoxicating style came a beauty of the like for which men died in throngs so that some king might make his claim. Somewhere amidst that first performance, Konstantin understood that he must have her. He had introduced himself to the ringmaster immediately after, foregoing the rest of the entertainment to come to the man privately, offering what in no way was a paltry sum. This bird, however, seemed without a price though the man made sure it was known everything else before this tall, dark stranger's eyes was for sale, right down to his very own hat. It had been an excited conversation, considering the amount of coin flashed, and when that proved not enough, even more spoken of. It had been an exciting conversation, yet the man had refused to change his stance. When Konstantin returned the next day, that larger, spoken of sum in hand, still there was no relent. The third found a certain amount of waver in the lanky ringmaster's decision, but not enough. With each new evening he had returned to find himself entranced all over again while the young woman performed. Finally, on the sixth day, the offer had risen enough that it seemed she truly might never be his. So there he was. It was the sixth evening and his dove had returned to her dressing room following her performance, which consisted of a vanity, a couch with several silks and scarves draped over one arm, likely from her changing, and beside that a large open crate of more decorative clothing. As he entered, footsteps upon the grass, letting the fabrics that comprised the door to fall back into place behind him, Konstantin's movements were delicately silent. This much came natural to him, when he wished it. It was one of the perks of being what he was. He was only minutes removed from speaking to the ringmaster, offering a sixth time his generous coin, and for the sixth time being offered everything else the man could think to sell him, though finding none of it appealing. That ringmaster was out on the stage again right now - he could hear him and the crowd easily through the temporary walls of the expansive circus tent - and shortly following that final conversation, Konstantin regrettably understood what he must do. She looked so delicate, like a flower. Milky-white skin. A face both innocent and alluring. Gorgeous locks of flowing hair. A body that was a gift to whomever might hold it close. As Konstantin slowly approached her from behind he didn't make a sound if he had, there was a question of whether or not it would be heard anyway over the background. He watched her sitting there in front of the large vanity mirror. He watched her, and as he approached her from behind, there was no reflection of him within that mirror...only her calm innocence. Only her unsuspecting face. Then, two hands. They could not be seen in the reflection even now, but her reaction surely would - without warning they encased either side of her neck within their grasp, fingers wrapping around her throat, where their cold grip began to strangle his dove, his Anastaysia. My name is Konstantin Alexey Corvin, he said simply, watching her body's every reaction in the mirror. I am going to kill you, now.