Infernal Love

    Froth was foaming from her mouth as she gasped out of time with her rhythmic pounding, spraying foaming spit into the air and onto his face. No matter how hard he tried her body never started to convulse with lust. She never felt the feeling of being lost inside herself while someone else lost themselves inside her.
   Soon he was foaming too. Feeling the final most powerful thrusts as he came into her she couldn't control it anymore. She grabbed his neck with her teeth. At first he was half overcome with surprise for a short instant before her teeth started tearing through his skin. She ground her jaws together as he reacted, teeth clenched trying with his weak arms to prise her teeth from his neck. Her teeth tore into his flesh like a predatory beast, driving forwards as he tried to pull away from her dragging her with him, her jaws locked around his throat like a fanged creature of the depths tearing it's prey to pieces.
   The thick white foam washed down her neck nearly choking her, before it was replaced by the hot, watery blood he sucked from his torn arteries. The grip on her slowly started to weaken and soon his arm fell limp, dropping onto the blood-spotted white sheets, followed by his body, falling backwards, resting on an expanding pool of it' own gore. Hellebron licked the blood from the top of the right side of her mouth and looked down at her recumberent former lover. For a moment she felt tears welling up around her eyes. Everything she tried had failed. The only time she'd enjoyed an act of love was with her sister. The knowledge she tried to fight against ever since then but was closing around her heart like a hand of iron was she was incapable of caring about anyone but her sister. She would never forget how liberating the feeling of awakening was when she'd first tried to kill her; and so nearly succeeded. She'd achieved something that was exceptionally rare among witches and unheard of in a novice. She's brought someone back from the dead. Not merely moving their body like the vulgar acts of a necromancer but restoring her heart so it beat again bringing her back to real, breathing life. She'd been more attached to her ever since. They were both more attached after that.
    Cecelyne had been driven into a rage that her attempt to take here sister by force had failed and that she'd resist her so much she'd rather kill her than be overcome. Compounded by the fact that her standing among the society had drastically increased after that. She'd been taken in by the highest Hag Queen for special training. They'd realised a special talent lay in herand it was all because she's been defeated by her greater older sister. It was as if she's been brought back after her total defeat for it to be recognised by the highest authority in their order that was their entire lives now, that they'd traded everything in the outside city to enter. The order was their world now and Hellebron had been acknowledged by the highest of it's members as a uniquely talented witch because Cecelyne had been defeated and then brought back by her.
   Hellebron splashed two handfuls of water from the bowl into her face to wash away they blood around her mouth, then soaked a rag and rinsed her neck, the translucent drops of half diluted blood dripped irritatingly down her body. She sighed as she dropped the rag onto the dresser and looked despondently into the mirror. She's tried sleeping with some of the males who she'd taken to but it was always the same. They could never break through that level of her consciousness that didn't seem to exist when her sister was around. She's killed every last one of them performing every manner of violent act she could think would excite her but. No matter what she did, however bestial her acts of murder she committed, no matter how savage the slaughter, it just made her feel empty. Her sister couldn't stand the sight of her and that was tearing her heart apart.
   By the time she's finished staring at her despondent reflection she saw that his blood had stopped flowing. So much waste. If it was my sister's I'd lap up every last drop and howl that I couldn't drink it again. But her love for her sister was the very thing that had driven her to hate her. She couldn't stand being shunned like this. Maybe that's why I really killed them? She quickly dismissed this thought. She knew why she killed them, killed every one of them like she was no more than an animal. She wanted her sister. She looked for the feeling she gave her in other elves but it was nowhere to be found. The only one who could give her the thing that justified her life despised her for that very fact. Despised her for the very fact she was still alive to despise her. Her heart was torn apart by hate for someone who loved her. It was love. She loves me too. Maybe that's what torments her all the more. She's never forgotten the soft feeling of her sister's flesh in her arms after she'd foiled one of her early attempts to rape her. She remembered holding her submissive body locked in her arms and legs after wrestling with her and how aroused she felt. Was that when she started to hate me? That I enjoyed triumphing over her so much?
    This was enough. The night air was chilling her bare skin. She dipped a finger into the slowly coagulating blood that had soaked into the bed and licked it. It was cold and tasteless. So unlike my sister. Such passion. Such a craving to dominate me. Such heat.
    At that moment she felt an urgent longing in her maidenhood. She took the bloody towel and wiped herself clean, careful not to use the part that was stained with his blood. She quickly put on her night cloak before pacing from the room without looking at the body and the blood she eft behind.
   Trying not to be noticed as she worked her way out of the house she winded past other rooms where she heard laughter and sounds of revelry of their own. She'd never made love in a carefree way that other elves enjoyed. She cared too much, that was her problem. So she walked onto the deserted street and made her way through the rain to the only one she cared about.

   Three loud knocks rumbled on the iron bound convent door. Clipped steps echoed from the hall within.
   "Who is it?"
   "Hellebron" she answered sternly.
   The eye hole slid open. No eye or feature was visible to her in the dark shadows. After a few seconds that tested Hellebron's growing impatience the eye hole closed and simultaneously the door pulled open with a loud knock as the lock was released.
   Hellebron was breathing deeply, her breath making clouds of fog in the air. Partly she was exhausted by her journey but more she felt a need, a compulsion to see her sister. She had no idea what to do when she got there but had to confront her. To tell her everything and see how she'd react. If she would even look at her. She was doubtful if she would listen to her words.
   She bowed he cowled head to the witch at the door and walked past, breaking into a fast stride as soon as she passed her. He feet hammered down the corridors, twisting through each turn on her way to the lower rooms where the newest initiated lived. She knew which room her sister slept in and knocked sharply on the door, trying to wake her without any of the others. After waiting impatiently she sighed with exasperation and knocked again. Inside she heard some shuffling and the her sister's face appeared at the barred hole in the door, her nose and mouth invisible under the bottom of the viewing hole.
    They just stared at eachother for a few moments, Hellebron breathing audibly as she looked into her sister's eyes, unable to see the expression on her face.
   "Are you going to let me in?"
   He sister's eyes widened slightly. A sign of passion. But what kind?
   "What do you want?"
   "Open the door and I'll tell you."
   Those perfect blue eyes, the colour of shallow water on a bright day, stared back at her, their expression unreadable without the look on Cecelyne's face. They stared unblinkingly back in a hypnotic trance before abruptly breaking contact as the lock was pulled open and the door revealed Hellebron's slightly shorted sister holding a serrated dagger in her hand. Her face was just as inscutiable as when she'd been hidden by the door. Hellebron couldn't tell if she was angry, exasperated or feeling some other emotion.
   Cecelyne took in the image of her sister, her long brown locks obscured by shadow and her cowl in the dark corridor. Even then her eyes were drawn to spots of darkness that weren't as black as the shadow that surrounded her face. Then she recognised the look in her sister's eyes, that empty, almost pleading look that made her expression seem so glazed.
   "I've done it again."

Twisted Sister

    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.

    Here's a short part of a story I've thought out part of.

   She leaned forward and clasped he upper lip between her lips. After a fulsome kiss she pulled her head down clasped it to her chest.
   "I'm sorry I tried to rape you."
   "I'm not sorry I tried to kill you. I enjoyed it" she said, kissing the top of her sister's head again. "I would have let you die if that male hadn't come in."
    "Am I weak?"
   "No. I'm stronger. As I should be."
   "Maybe one day I'll be stronger."
   She didn't say the implicit 'I hope not' as they both knew what that meant.
   After a moment savouring the last of the oddly fearful expression on the male's upturned face she finally pushed the contorted corpse off the bed.
   Free from the prying eyes of the deceased stranger, still staring at her, frozen in the moment he died, the Elf maiden returned he attention to her familial bedfellow.
   The younger girl whimpered slightly under her touch.
   "Don't do that" warned her older sister in a soft tone.
   She replaced her whimper with a gentle groan.
   "That's better." She grasped the white haired girl, wrapping her lags around her's and stroking her back with a lazy gentle motion.
   "I'll never let anyone else hurt you."

    I just wrote this while I was naked in bed. I wanted to do something that reconciled a love theme with the inherent malice of the Dark Elves. A story like this would never work in 40,000, the setting and the background of the character wouldn't allow for it, it's far too stern for any major characters to have any love interest without totally breaking background. But in a Fantasy setting it could work if it was properly handled because romance and fantasy have a long history and Fantasy is far more romantic than the dark, far-future of 40,000. Romance and sci-fi seems too corny.
    The problem is writing a story from the perspective of the Dark Elves with them as the main protagonists is difficult if you want you characters to have emotional range and depth. Without positive emotions they're at risk of being one dimentional, but you have to temper that with the fact that these beings are fundamentally evil which is the reason people read this story. The writers of Malus Darkblade seem to have done a good job from what I've read, albeit within the confines of a pure adventure plot. Alith Anar (also hailing from Nagarythe) has love interests in his story. To counter the insidious viciousness that's overtaken the Dark Elves this takes place quite early in their history and is inspired by the characters of Hellebron and her sister in The Shadowking (although it's nothing like this, you'll never hear about Dark Elf sisters getting down to it in something that's Black Library approved, that's why this is fan fiction and I'm not seeking any sponsors.)
   More personally this is my first trial of writing genuine fiction, with a proper narrative, dialogue and characters. I mostly just wrote descriptive prose, and while this is very enjoyable I felt like I wasn't a writer of the same type or the same calibre as the ones I read. I've also thought out a few other parts of the story, which crucially hinges on dialogue not all poetic description so at last I can become a proper writer.
   There I've just spent more space writing about myself and storytelling and my actual story. I'm nothing if not introspective, but that will change soon when I start being more expansive in my writing.