A/N: Not too much to say this time. I'm a huge fan of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (I've seen them in concert six times since 2003), and while listening to "The Dreams of Candlelight" got some fic inspiration. This is the result.
Updated Note: Because FFN decided to strip all indications of scene changes and I had to come back into this one and fix the formatting, I decided to expand this to the full version. Slightly more smut, still not explicit, but a bit more suggestive. Enjoy.
"And we would live inside this night
Within the dreams of candlelight
If you would bring this wish to life
And spend this night with me…"
—"The Dreams of Candlelight," Trans-Siberian Orchestra
She stands alone, slightly disconcerted, here in this cathedral-ceilinged hall, her small form clad only in a thin shift of pale linen. Seemingly innumerable tapered candles burn brightly from wrought-iron sconces and candlesticks, bathing this small circle of the room in a warm, golden glow. Lush, rich carpeting in blood-dark red lines the floor; but for this, the hall would be only a meeting of cold, forbidding stone and the candlelight penetrating softly into the darkness.
She questions her presence here, wonders where she is and why. And yet, even as she questions, somehow she knows why she has come. Temptation. Desire. The lure of something she can't possibly hope to describe.
Suspicions confirmed then at the feel of strong hands settling easily along her hips from behind. "So eager for destruction, Cassandra?" he murmurs darkly, voice low and lips close along her ear. His arms come round her torso, sudden and tight, pulling her against him.
She can only stare ahead, mouth suddenly dry, tongue sticking painfully to the roof of her mouth.
He laughs lightly, a somehow chilling sound. "Stupid girl. You should have returned to your family's hearthside when you had the chance."
Her heart clenches painfully in her chest, though she does not, cannot understand why. "I can't," she says helplessly, and knows it to be true.
"I know." A hint of sadness runs through this simple statement, and she finds herself suddenly alone.
She turns sharply, tears stinging at her eyes as she searches for him through the candlelight to no avail. Perhaps he had released her, permitted her one last chance to escape before hellfire consumed her. Return to your hearthside, Cassandra, she faintly hears his chiding tone. You should not dwell so in darkness.
An innate sense of self-preservation tugs insistently at her, imploring her to take heed and leave this place, return to the light, to some hope of salvation, to throw herself on the gods' mercy. Already she has begun to feel the ever-slight madness and evil coursing through her, still weak, still faint, still conquerable if she runs from him, from his curse, leaves him to his own inevitable destruction.
Perhaps she could have, once. Perhaps there was a time, not terribly long ago, when she would have steeled herself against heartbreak and brushed back her tears as she began the harsh journey through the mountains with one final glance. Perhaps.
She sinks to her knees in the midst of the candlelight, willing herself not to cry, mind and heart warring ceaselessly. Run, stay. Be healed, be cursed. What she must do…what she cannot.
It is during this agonizing struggle that he appears silently at the edge of the candles' light, half in shadow. His eyes are darkened, richly wine-colored, regarding her with carefully measured indifference before his eyebrows rise slightly in an unspoken question.
"I can't," she says once more, oblivious to the tears sliding easily down her cheeks.
"You know the price," he states flatly. "Much too steep a price to be paid by one so young, one still ensconced in candlelight."
"I don't care." She clutches her hands against the hem of her shift, raising her gaze to meet his, eyes imploring. "I won't leave you."
He remains silent for a moment before crossing into the light, falling to one knee before her, one hand absently brushing aside her tears. "Why on earth not, you idiotic thing?"
She shuts her eyes painfully, anger and desperation rushing swiftly through her mind. "Because," she says finally, opening her eyes to meet his frustrated stare, "because I am an idiotic thing. Because, no matter how much I try, no matter how much I hate it, no matter how much you insult me, how badly you treat me, I still love you."
He moves quickly, so quickly, pinning her roughly to the ground with one hand while poising the other along her pale throat, eyes gazing down at her frightened form malevolently.
"Even then," she says, voice soft with sad acceptance.
He removes his hands angrily. "What am I to do with you?"
One sleeve of her light shift has fallen; she moves to push it up upon her shoulder before hesitating a moment. The thought comes, unbidden yet somehow expected, and she lays one hand softly upon his arm, eyes shining. "Stay with me." Then, gently, carefully, she presses her lips against his cheek.
In that moment, he is undone. Ignoring her sudden cry, he pulls her roughly into his arms, astride his lap, eyes dark and insistent. "No turning back, mon cœur."
Trembling slightly with fear and anticipation, she twines her hands into his thick blond hair, bringing his face close to hers. "Never."
He closes the distance sharply, lips slanting passionately over hers, fingers trailing along her arms, the outline of her breasts, the swell of her hip. She leans into him, still trembling, moving one hand to lay across his heart, finding its rapid beat beneath her fingertips. He nips sharply at her bottom lip before flicking his tongue against her own, lips upturning slightly at the corners at her soft cry. She presses herself closer to him as he slides his tongue along hers insistently, one hand moving to lay flat against her backside, the other settling comfortably along her thigh. And so they remain for long moments, kissing fiercely, her tongue moving boldly to meet his, until she becomes sharply aware of the hardness pressed against her and pulls away, lips a hair's breadth from his, face flushed.
"I've never—" she begins before he silences her with a swift kiss.
"I am thusly honored to be the first to defile you," he responds, one hand lazily resting over her left breast. "And the last."
Her thoughts come to a sharp halt as he bends his head and begins to suckle at her through the thin fabric, her eyes rolling back at the sudden sensation. He pauses long enough to grant her a wicked smile before nipping lightly at the hardened nub, one hand gently rolling its twin between nimble fingers. She fails to suppress a moan as she arches against him. "Gods above," she whispers.
He moves from their embrace then, easily shrugging out of the loose fabric of his shirt before returning to her side, laying her back against the rich carpeting. "No turning back," he repeats. His eyes meet hers, fire-red and darkened by shadows and lust, and mindlessly she reaches up to once more bring his lips down upon hers, harsh and fierce, bruising.
Here she feels sensation begin to cloud perception. His lips against her pulse point, burning-hot against her pale skin, suckling hard, teeth grazing against her. Fingers trailing along her inner thigh, inching upwards until she cries out and arches into his touch. Her hands are against his shoulders, desperate for something tangible, something to anchor her to the waking world against the feeling of his lips and hands against her—too much, too much…
She remains faintly aware of the encroaching darkness, the dimming candles, hellfire and cursed eyes holding her within their cruel grasp, even as his lips and tongue move over her, hot too-hot burning against swollen flesh, hands twined desperately in his hair as he sweeps his tongue repeatedly along one spot and she shudders and cries out, almost sobbing, as she falls to pieces.
Later, through a haze of passion and fire, Sophitia's words settle over her like a dark mist, some last vestige of reason pleading with her to save her soul. "The darkness will consume you…" her warning sounds in her ears, desperate and fearful, struggling to be heard over his passionate whispers as he holds her close, her shift cast off and forgotten.
Faintly, sadly, she responds as she feels him shift, stilling momentarily before entering her with one sharp thrust. Too late.
She shuts her eyes and presses against him as his lips ghost over her fair golden skin, fire coursing through her veins like swift poison. There is pain—how could there not be with him? And yet how easily it is forgotten as he nibbles at her ear, one arm braced alongside her as he begins to move inside her, shallow at first, then with building fire and intensity. He raises his voice to meet hers, wordless in desire, pulling her legs around him. She feels the familiar building electricity, heart beating faster, ever faster until he kisses her deeply, all passion and dark promise, silencing her cries as they descend into hell together.
"Cassandra?"
Cassandra awoke with a start, blond hair sticking fast to her sweat-slicked forehead, cheeks flushed, heart pounding rapidly in her chest. She gazed unfocusedly at the entryway to her bedroom within the Romanian fortress, where Raphael stood with his hand at his rapier, eyes searching the room. "Y-yes?" she stammered, embarrassedly pulling down her shift from where it had tangled round her thighs.
"You were crying out rather loudly; I thought you might be in danger from an intruder," he informed her, arching an eyebrow at her flushed appearance. "Are you quite all right?" he asked, coming to her bedside and pressing a hand to her cheek. "Not that I'm particularly concerned, of course. It's just such a hassle to have servants enter a room once they know a guest has perished within it, and I'd greatly prefer if I could avoid hiring new staff." Raphael's smirk faded slowly as he realized that Cassandra had no intention of lightly smacking him and calling him some insulting name before banishing him from her bedroom. "Cassandra?"
She glanced at him quickly before blushing more deeply and turning her gaze rather intently to the rich bedspread. "I…had a really strange dream," she began hesitantly.
"Ah. A nightmare?" He carefully smoothed her disheveled hair from her brow before kissing her lightly. Confusion crossed his features as he pulled away and noted Cassandra's look of fear and distress.
"I—" she started, shaking her head slightly, eyes wide. "I'm honestly not sure."