Violet's Fingers Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

Violet's Fingers Ch. 02

... spider towards the shadowy floor of the gorge.

It may seem strange, dear reader, that she is at home climbing, while I, the dancer, am uneasy on the cliff edges. That is how it is, and I did take the easy way down, unable to watch but soothed by the echoes of her verse in the cool stone, the curious accents she chose, the cadence of her words, never far from song. Safe with her feet in the cold, shallow water, she slipped through shafts of light filtering from far above to come before our smoking campfire.

Down and leaning against my log to complete my sketches, she wishes I lay down my pencil, open my arms and hold her, feel against my nose the soft fur of the rabbit over her shoulder, against my cheek the brush of her hair. I did not dare. Instead, I chose to bend her, to fold her, to play unfaithful games. Line by line in time my paper violets took shape, the flesh and blood girl heartbroken that I could not simply reach out and touch. Only now am I distant enough to notice how the games she played with the sound of my name were mirroring how I shaped her with my pencil.

Dear reader, if you came across Violet alive in your imagination, she would not be shy; she would welcome your approach and embrace. And if your fingertips wandered to come across the hatching of scars laid hard over her back, would you flinch and withdraw from under the ragged lace? Remember, she is the victim in this tale and I the monster.

If it were me you met, my hand would drop to the hilt of my knife, and I might use it. But from the safety of your imagination you may reach out, slide your fingertips up my cheek to the depression where my eye once played. There you will feel the crude stitches which have healed my sight, balancing the darkness and the light.