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The Temple Whore

Short story By: Twisted
Fantasy



He was an artist, and as an artist, these things occasionally happened. Where as everything in nature inspired the artist to work day and night, scarcely eating or sleeping, just doing enough to barely get over, to get them through what they needed to do. Another masterpiece to fill them with euphoria temporarily to fill that black void within their souls-and in this case, this artist had no soul, since he sold it along with his chained humanity long ago.


Submitted:Dec 28, 2006    Reads: 777    Comments: 3    Likes: 0   


The Temple Whore

Adriean Ovaldi

I.

He was an artist, and as an artist, these things occasionally happened. Where as everything in nature inspired the artist to work day and night, scarcely eating or sleeping, just doing enough to barely get over, to get them through what they needed to do. Another masterpiece to fill them with euphoria temporarily to fill that black void within their souls-and in this case, this artist had no soul, since he sold it along with his chained humanity long ago.

He was French--as French artists go, he studied and made his details precise and accurate as close to the recipient of his desire, showing them and the world their flaws-and took pride in his ability to show them what they truly were. With their many flaws, and artificial wisdom and knowledge that they had acquired over the years.

He was young-handsome, sought after, talented, able, healthy, naught in need, brilliant, and careful. As careful as a surgeon as he pushes aside delicate organs to find the prize, he picked his emotions aside and separated them from him. He still indulged himself within his wishful fantasies and lust filled scenes with countless girls. Girls that come and ask him to draw them in their truest form-naked, so he may crave and want them; innocent pouts, lightly stroking themselves, and positioning themselves in erotic positions were as, as he was drawing and memorizing details he glanced up. Another completed masterpiece in which another young woman was captured into what she made herself to be unintentionally.

A whore--not some irresistible and wanton woman, no simply and plainly a whore.

He smirked, and let them have their way when he was done. He let them seduce him, he had them all; different races, from Puerto Rican to Russian. He studied every aspect of the human's body, both male and female, but his interest lay within the females'. Different sizes, the breast large, small, their innocence, stretched and experienced, to young and naïve, they were modeled in the same way, yet they carried their own signature. Tattoos, snakes, on their waist, dragons on the lower back just above their butts, or a small goldfish that he followed to their jewel as he tasted their flavor, and even found their flavors, their reactions curious, yet unchanged.

Humans were odd...and particular creatures. Not exactly marvelous, looking at how flawed they were to begin with, but they were the most organized creatures on this planet, in this universe. With their complex mechanisms, and scientific ways about the universe and its laws, they were mortal after all, and can perish. But though all their legacy lived on...key elements, memories were always only special to the person that remembered them, never truly held any meanings to anyone else. Selfishness...and carelessly they damned themselves.

Artist...complex...they were always trying to give meaning to their empty lives, he wondered, whether he was just as flawed as the humans...he highly doubted that...he was in a class of his own and preferred to keep his distance from them and everyone else...and what would the humans call it in technical terms, the basic defense system humans used to keep others away. Hell, humans were so insufficient, imperfect with their beliefs of the justice system and strong 'religion communities' that they never realized what they were doing...but he did, he could see through the many mono-colors of the world.

**********************************************************************************

The air was as sweet and warm and intoxicating as summer, yet the distant faces were as winter...fall was here, blowing around, but drifting back and camouflaging itself much like he did...winter bit against the exposed skin as always...

Nothing inspired him, and as it went, he left his penthouse and looking for inspiration from anything. He envied at the clouds for their free spirit and odd insensibility that they carried almost all the human traits--lifeless, dull, ignorant, following, sloth-like...such an interesting theme for a book, but he wasn't a writer. Words were not his profession, only faces, and bodies, the contours and curves, and imperfections of the human body, and nothing else. That was all that was contained within the book of images that were created in likeness...Odd, which was more perfect--the model whom he asked or rather, was asked to pose for him, or the commissioned piece? The simple and uncomplexed curves, and dips and shadows that rarely held meaning alone to the regular human's eyes? Or their portrait of them upon easily rip able paper, that immortalized them, where the imperfections, and the shadows and the strokes of the body were made clear and shown to the world, through someone else's eyes. Through the artist's eyes.

Ironic...?

In this crowded place of a park where peace was to be found, he found none, only countless faces that blurred past, none striking his inner self, and he groaned. He was feeling stressed lately and feeling restless as any artist with an inspiration block...angry, easy irritable, and often daydreaming looking for the one thing that can get their mind going.... The only difference was everything original was no longer original, it became apart of the monotone slur so that artist now had no credulity to their name other than waking up one day to be a "has-been".

There must be a face here, a body, and work of art, that I haven't explored yet...Where is this enigmatic piece of work that I desire?

Nowhere to be found it seemed until...she made her way to him, and for a moment, he was caught off-guard by her sheer beauty. Dark black hair that rivaled the night, and dark golden eyes that at first glance seemed to be red, was instead a deep brownish-amber. Her lips were full and lush naturally, not enhanced like most women, and her face angular much like an elf's, and she had smooth, marble creamy white skin. She was tall for a woman, but still not able to match a man, graceful as if she was gliding her way to him, her strides even and as long as her legs, but underneath all as humans were...she was insecure, yet comfortable with her insecurity, her imperfection, and therefore, perfect.

She sat down next to him and the moment ended, only to be returned along with the loud and broken conversations of passing people. " Bonjour." She whispered as she sat down, and crossed her legs in front of her, as a Lady would do.

" Bonjour." He whispered back almost breathlessly as he watched her movements carefully. How long had it been since he last heard anyone say anything in his native tongue? French...the language of love they sometimes called it.... He found the way she said it sounded natural, perhaps she had some French ancestry, but he could tell she was mixed with many nationalities..and her voice, it was so soft, but sensuous only the kind a woman could create when she was..but she had sat down and closed her eyes. The corners of her lips were slightly lifted so that she could form a tiny smile, as if she was entertaining amusing thoughts of.... His hand twitched to take his pad to sketch her before he would take her..and if he were too...?

" Excuse me, miss?" His voice was still slightly accented although he quickly and fluently picked up the English language. She turned her head to face him; her long dark hair brushed her shoulder, and fell in careful tendrils over her shoulder. " May I draw you?"

His question didn't seem to surprise her; rather it was as if she expected it. She nodded her head slightly as to give her consent, but she said nothing more as if expectantly and some how...innocently arousing...obediently awaited his orders. " Turn to face me a little more." She shifted to look at him, her eyes soft, but he could tell behind him she could not sleep for the nightmares that haunted her dreams made a home in her eyes. " Just a tiny bit more." He coaxed and she followed, getting into the exact position he wanted. He studied her face as to make it look more natural, and to keep for his own purposes...who knew long it would be..this exciting game they would play would take...Him as the Watcher; the guardian.

He gave her a gentle smile, before beginning his work, lightly sketching the outlines of her face, and upper body...The eyes, the elegant eyebrows, her nose, straight, perfectly symmetrical with her face, her lips, the soft structure of her jaw, and her long exposed neck, that would have vampires lusting after her. Her shoulders were small and child-like, but as her chest rose to reveal large, voluptuous breast held by a lacy bra, black, no doubt, through her thin burgundy color shirt, he felt himself stiffen as he 'caressed' the picture, the masterpiece that he was creating.

He worked quickly and hard, trying to create and deepen the shadows of her hair, to show and accent the details of her eyes, cat-like, long beautiful eye lashes, and the deep richness of them. " Wine..." He whispered, tracing the imitation eyes he borrowed, instead of the original ones.

" Hm?" She asked, her interest peaked at his slight frown.

" No, no. I..I was comparing your eyes to something..," he looked up to see her reaction, but found none, only her unmoving. " It was a compliment." He said gently, a smirk or so tugging the edge of his lips, but the woman seemed unaffected.

He decided to do something daring. He stood, digging in his pocket and politely, handed her a twenty and his card before asking her name. He gently put the items in her soft hands. " Ms, I feel so rude as to leave you so soon without your name. This is my card and a twenty for your time, use it for a cab and such."

She glanced down at the crumpled twenty in her hand then back at him. " I am a woman of few words sir, but I do not need this money." She stood as well, and he could see that she was indeed tall for a woman, but still the top of her head just reached his lips. She held out the money, and placed it gently on the sketch pad he still had out in front of him. " However, I shall take the card, monsieur." She tucked the card in the front pocket of her jeans. " Good day, sir." She turned to walk away.

He stood there, a smile of victory on his face until he realized he didn't get her name. " Mademoiselle," he called out to her, " I did not get your name."

She turned. " I did not give it, monsieur. Mademoiselle, or Miss and quite fine."

" But for the sketch pad, your name." He lifted the sketch pad as to give her a visual. " I need to include your name."

" Call it what you will sir. I care not." She turned once, more and dissolved within the crowd of blurred faces before he could reply.

He glanced down at her portrait, the face of the most enigmatic woman he'd ever met stared back at him...he frowned. What to name her for now...? The Watcher waited a few heartbeats, a simple name forming on the edge of his tongue..." Conundrum...Enigma..."

***********************************************************************

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the sharp jagged rocks in the distance always seemed to be calming. But not today...today was a day of death. He was paid to make one last picture of some "rich" family's dead daughter; the youngest and only heiress to some famous and high-intel company. She was found dead--wrist slit, her eyes wide in terror and pain, the body drained from her completely. Her skin was pale--translucent, and not in the rare beautiful way. Her pale blond hair curled around her face, her small lips opened wide, and on her naked and bare body words were burned into her chest, across her breast: Meretrix. Of course, this young woman probably had been adventurous and promiscous no doubt, after all what young person wasn't...lose with their bodies as if there was no tomorrow, and for her their wouldn't be.

The family asked him to make one last picture of her to remember her by; did they know they asked him to capture the beauty of her death? But really, did they expect him to draw her in this way, let them remember her only in death...no matter how peaceful she looked? He felt a pull of sympathy for her and frowned...perhaps he shall draw her in her current state for himself, to remember the sight of death and capture her...odd beauty upon the paper of his origin, and profide them a beautiful picture of her as he saw her...young and naive...? He frowned and took out his tools, committing the details of her death to his memory. Her drawn back lips created slight laugh lines by her eyes, her cold and blank blue, once bright, now glassy and pale. The small miniscule cut on her lips to show that blood once flowed from their as well as...the deep, perfect slits in her wrists.

" What did you say was the cause of death, Muise?" He asked softly, his focus remained upon the girl's naked body. She was beautiful in the traditional way, pale skin, blond hair, blue eyed, but their was nothing special about her. He continued his sketch, adding the remaining shadows, and the mark over her chest. Meretrix...the word was branded into her skin, black and deep against her cold, pale skin...Whore...

Muise, tall brunette of a man, tall and whispy like him, the only difference was their eye color and taste in women. Muise had brown eyes, and he had deep black ones. Muise preferred to keep himself more reserved than even the young artist himself, while he liked to indulge once in a while. Muise usually talked low and rarely as he did himself, his profession was photographer/writer/criminal profiler.

Muise rocked back on the balls of feet. " Suicide from the looks of it."

" And you think this young woman could have done that to herself? She was murdered..." He finished up, then flipped the page and preceded to do what he was suppose to do. " They branded meretrix into her naked flesh, before she was killed. Whore, Muise."

Muise nodded. " It's a damn shame too."

They remained in silence as he continued his work.

******************************************************************************

She called, and her the way the phone made her voice sound did her no justice. The sound of her voice over the phone sent tremors through his body, and felt himself twitch with his constant thoughts of her. He memorized every detail of her body that first--and so far last day he saw her. Her curves, the dips and shadows, and knowing almost every aspect of the female's body, he imagined her in her form. But, no matter how many times he tried to imagine--no matter how many women's bodies he'd seen, smelt, felt, touched, tasted--there was none that quiet matched her.

" Je veux que me vous ayez dessiné." She whispered softly as if afraid someone would overhear.

French again. "Où et comment ?"

She was quiet so all he could hear was her breathing as if she was running from someone. " Meet me at the Resquart Tavern. Tomorrow, 11:00 p.m." Her breath hitched before the line went dead.

He frowned, looking at the phone before hanging it up. His body felt alive with desire, his penis pulsing ready for intercourse. Thoughts of Engima screaming his name caused him grunt and double over in pain. " Engima," he whispered as he let his hands unbutton his pants, and grasp himself. He hissed at the feel of his cold hands, the way he held himself tightly. He gritted his teeth together and shut his eyes tightly. He moved his hands up and down and panted, more images of Engima seemed to echo through his mind, continually sending tremors through his body. He pumped himself, sending him into orgasm after orgasm, his body still alive, and ready for her. " Engima...Engima..."

******************************************************************************

His tools were already set up when she stepped through the door. He took his work seriously...

She lightly cleared her throat to announce her arrival and the man stood up abruptly. He stared at her, and the light colored material draped over her arm. He merely gestured off to the right to show her where the changing area was and turned back to adjust the 'stage.' She quietly left the room to change.

She undressed quickly, her nipples harding as soon as they were released from her bra. She hissed slightly, then draped the soft, skimpy robe she brought with her over her body.Her clothes lay in a small pile near the door. She looked at herself in the mirror and looked over her appearance, before leaving the room and entering the one the artist was in.

He glanced up, and for a second he stared at her. She was like in his deluded fantasy, aroused and almost completely naked--if not completely. Her large, unnaive eyes were dark as her hair feel around them, giving them a deceptive and...dark look...

She cleared her throat again and stepped forward to lay on the bed, the 'stage' he set up for her. The large plush pillows were slightly cradling her head and framed along her body. She kept the robe on and got into the pose she wished to drawn in. She laid her head on the giant pillow and let one of her hands fall off the bed, while the other lightly rested on the curve of her hip. " You're not going to take off your robe?" He asked quietly as to not give her a hint that he was trying to seduce her. " I specialize in drawing women--and sometimes men--in their truest form, through an artist's eyes."

The young woman stood up and fixed her dark amber eyes on him, and shyly began to pull her robe apart. " Can I get under the covers?" She asked quietly, and he could tell that she was shy to be seen in his presence vulnerable.

He nodded and she turned away from him. He watched as she let the small, light pastel off-white robe fall from her shoulders then into a puddle at her feet. Her midback length hair was dark and beautifully contrasting with her skin. There was some kind of tattoo on her lower back that he had to carefully look at. Enigma in Latin. So she was not only fluent in French, but also in Latin? Such and interesting woman..." Are you always so shy with your body, miss?"

He couldn't resist, he had to ask.

She pulled up the crimson covers and gently slid under them. " No, I am very proud of my imperfect body, I know well enough that it is not perfect, however I refuse to let such a talented artist such as yourself show me--and the world--my imperfection."

He was quiet. Philosophical..." So you care what others think?"

" No," she pulled the covers so they covered her large breast and her hard pink mounds. " I do not care what others think. Merely that I am like everyone else in this world--imperfect--not many people can admit that. I wish to share my imperfection so that younger women care enough not to whine up like that girl, Dulce. She was branded with one of the worst names out there--meretrix--and I refuse to let imperfection be the cause of being damned...of being reminded that you are mortal." She looked at him, her amber eyes darkening by the second. " Where would you like me?"

He looked at where she was in the middle of the bed, her pale white hands holding up the covers over her breast. " Where you are is perfect. Look at me as if...as if you were in love with me."

Her eyes sent him a message. I want you.

She nodded slowly. She closed her eyes, and curled up slightly then tilted her head slightly so she was looking at him as if she was amused, then opened them again and he heated at their expression. I want you.

Perfect...He began his dance. Dips, curves, shadows...he decided that he would add color to her instead of being monotone. The pencil and black chalk did her beauty no good--the least he could do was show the world a woman worthy of color, of life. Her imperfections made her perfect. He thought about the words she said.

" I do not care what others think. Merely that I am like everyone else in this world--imperfect..." He glanced up at her, and looked into her dark amber eyes.

No, Enigma, you are not like them...

*********************************************************************************

Muise stood over the young woman, his sad brown eyes drinking in the scene. " Another young woman has fallen at the hands of this sick perpertator. I refuse to let him get more Narcisse."

Narcisse nodded, his eyes also taking in the scene. Another young woman's body had been discovered on the beach, this time, in a different pose than the first on. She was in a praying position, a red string tied around her neck, and her eyes closed. She was as naked as the first one, the only difference is the word Slut was branded along her back.

" In an artist view I can clearly see where this UNSUB is heading." He studied the red head, her hair short and choppy, in spikes all over her head. " What color are her eyes?"

" They are suppose to be green." Muise replied, his frown deepening. " He removed the eyes. And on the other one, he removed the ears, we didn't see because of her long hair."

Narcisse nodded. " The 'Whores of the Three Ringed Circle' is a very famous series of murders involving women."

Muise's interest was peaked. " What do you mean?"

" In the dark age in the turn of the 19th Century in a city that was suppose to be unreachable, unseeable, by mortals, only the dark immortals--vampires--could get there. The 'Whores of the Three Ringed Circle' was an offering of carnal pleasure given to the vampires from either the humans, weaker vampire clans, and a Council of Elders--thus naming it the 'Three Ringed Circle'. They were to be their slaves, to keep the vampires from feeding from one of the villager's innocent maidens." Narcisse cleared his throat. " They were the 'whores' of the village, the most experienced ones assigned to keep the vampires happy and from feeding from them."

Muise looked at the young woman's body. " This one's name is Sherry, and the other was Dulce. So, what's that in French and Spanish? Beloved and Sweet. I can just imagine what the last one will be."

" Azara. If they are going according to the names, and their descriptions, then the next one will be Azara. I'll work on a description for you."

Muise nodded. " Azara, what's the Chinese?"

" No, that's Persian. It means fire. Search your databases for that name, A-z-a-r-a."

Muise nodded. " I'm gonna get this bastard, if it's the last thing I do."

**********************************************************************************

Azara means fire...He thought as he sat at his desk. He needed to come up with a sketch of what most likely she would look like. Her eyes would be of fire...He would begin with her eyes. Brown? That's the primary eye colors...blue, green, and brown. Oval, maybe slightly slanted to give them and exotic look? Small, straight nose, full lips? She would be curvy, small in waist...would she be as promiscuous as the rest... or would she be more reserved. He settled for the latter.

Attractive, more than attractive, shallow? Perhaps not shallow. He began his sketch, and his loins tightened. He began to realize who he was drawing....

His phone rang and her voice was soft and sweet. "Narcisse..."

**********************************************************************************

A few notes if you will. As you can see, I go by different names, Adriean Ovaldi and Aubrey Asylum are my pseudonyms for when I get my book published. However my real name is Adrieanna Coco, and I can't have people thinking I'm stealing the credit of my own name! FACT: This short story that I have developed is not based on actually fact of tale of a Secret Society called " Concilium of Sages" it is merely and simply a figment of my imagination, however, this will become just one part of one full story of many. (Confusing isn't it?) The 'Whores of the Three Ringed Circle' is a branch from the Concilium of Sages, a…a problem that they had dealt with and extinguished in the past. This is merely the first of many adventures between the Artist and the Beauty, in which they encounter this society. This story will not only center on Narcisse and (no, her name isn't Azara) Adyiana, but more complex characters such as these two. Thank you, for making this first adventure possible with Narcisse and Adyiana!

Adriean Ovaldi





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