M My Minion, I hope you're reading this on a big screen. It's much better that way.
The lithe, pale form of her upper arm flowed seamlessly to her bulkless shoulder. Her skin was so pure and uniform that even her sister's sharp senses could find no fault or blemish. She was so pale and yet not bleached and featureless white, but the colour of her skin darkened the straps that wrapped around her body, and the links running down her inhumanly long, elegant and graceful limbs, eccentuating their perfect proportions. These are what aroused her sister's lust the most. They presented the illusion of being bound, a feeling that was pleasurable to onlooker and wearer alike. But such an illusion was dangerously disarming. Four males had tried to share the bed of her sister but the only fluid they had spilled onto the sheets was their blood. She had tempted the last one, she was sure. Cecelyne had seen her luring the noble, too impetuous for his own good, drunk with wine and the promise of a night's ecstasy back to her room where she had several knives waiting. Cecelyne watched inconspicuously through a special peephole she had made to watch her sister undress and sleep as she played with him, torturing him to death inch by agonising inch, her lusty naked body just out of reach.
The first time Cecelyne found it unbearable to watch yet unbearable to look away from as he tried to rape her. But he had asked for more than he bargained for. With a surprise move Hellebron had managed to turn the overconfident male onto his back and mount him. Thinking that she might have decided to submit to his advances or just confused by the sudden positioning, he's let his guard down as Hellebron grasped his chest between her legs in an iron grip and sank her fingers into his throat. Cecelyne always watched her when she had visitors after that.
The second time she brought a casual lover up with her and actually seemed willing, but again he tried to use violence to force her to submit. It was as if she didn't understand the rules of druchii courtship. This time it was bloodier. She'd disabled him with a crippling strike then dug her long fingernails into his eyes. Again she strangled him to death.
The third one- they seemed attracted to her like fish drawn to a lure under her loincloth- had the worst passing of all three. Again they sat down on the bed and he began teasing her and caressing her and then tried to rip off her clothes. At the first sign of violence she abandoned any sexual interest and then began savagely beating him to death. The unchanging mask of hate on her sister's face had been unlike anything she'd ever seen. He must have died some time before she ceased beating his face into an unrecognisable pulp.
It always amazed her how calm she seemed afterwards. For all her violence and the malice that blazed in her eyes afterwards she was as calm and serene as a maid waking on a peaceful morning. That said she behaved more violently in the days after killing a would-be suitor. Her temper flared at the slightest irritation, and loud, acrimonious arguments raged over the dinner table over the alleged, attempted rape of a noble maid. Her father tried to explain that all males behaved that way; but there was still a difference between that and actually trying to force her as Hellebron never failed to vociferously point out, only ceasing her tirade when her father sharply slapped a glove across her face. The money he'd had to pay in recompense for these shady, alleged crimes upon her person was costing her family and her father years of profits.
The forth time she killed she prepared in advance. Knives had been hidden around the room and servants subtly deflected from coming near her chamber. This time she had gone out hunting and brought back a youth who looked like he'd come from some sleazy bordello. Only Hellebron would ever dare do such a thing Cecelyne mused with a hint of wistfulness and heartfelt envy.
After slipping off a gauzy silk gown that covered her very revealing underwear and coquettishly describing the use of her toys- which had incidently been paid for by her parents Cecelyne noted- she convinced the naked male to allow her to tie him to the bed. With an artistry that truly surprised Cecelyne she'd begun carving off his skin, starting with his feet and hands and working her way inwards. She didn't simply cut him into a bloody ruin, he turned him into a sculpture of flesh, a sculpture that should have died long before it actually expired. Her and Hellebron were the only ones to see the work of art. No one found the body afterwards.
That night Cecelyne dreamed of the scene, dreamed of the screaming. But most of all- that fleeting moment she wished she could hold onto for longer but was all the more valuable for it's briefness, the moment that made her feel heat in her heart and all through her body, was her sister's absolute silence as she cut him up. That thought aroused her. The thought of making her sister break that silence. I'll hold you in my bed as firmly as you hold your torture victims, and I'll make you moan and scream in ways you never thought you could. You won't be able to stay quiet for a moment. I'll have you my dear sister, as surely as you've protected yourself from everyone else I'll have you.
She woke the next morning, white sheets clinging to her naked body, soaked with sweat and something she'd never smelled before.
