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Blood Broken by proxy_flame

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The notes filled her head, softly caressing her thoughts and twining about them, finally bringing to reality the music that had haunted her mind since her cutting in the Empty room.

Julie slipped her fingers under the long sleeve of her shirt and pressed them to the bright red arm warmers underneath. The fresh cuts along the cranberry colored birthmark covering most of her left forearm twinged painfully and she inhaled deeply, the memory of emotional release fading quickly as it always did yet still strong enough to calm her.

Seating herself in the very farthest corner of the concert hall wasn't the best idea for hearing the music properly but Julie was unable to obtain a pass not being a member of the organization. It was because of this that Julie had stolen one of her grandmother's hearing aids, however much it hurt her heart to do so, she worshipped the lady, and forced a long disused side door of the concert building and slipped unobtrusively into an empty seat, fastening the little device in her ear.

Beethoven's Sonata in C Minor op. 2 no. 3. That was the music hounding her. Ironically it was her grandmother's favorite piece, which in turn brought back the dreams. Julie clamped hr fingers around her forearm and twisted the flesh harshly. Burning pain erupted from the cuts along her birthmark and she slid down in her seat, shuddering.

She knew, of course, from family albums and paintings, best of all from the portrait in the dining room, that her grandmother in her youth had been one of the most delicate and exquisite of beauties. She knew from those pictures that the woman she had dreamed of since her memories began, oh-so-innocently of at first, and upon Julie's thirteenth birthday who had touched her so sinfully in the dreams was her own grandmother, Anastasia Henry.

There was no reason she should have those dreams, no logical reason at all but she did have them. And when they didn't come she wandered about in despair, longing consuming her, need for the tenderness and affection burning within her until only the blood trickling down her fingers held any relief. Julie thought back to what her grandfather had told her.

Her grandmother. Lady Anastacia Henry of New Hampshire, England. Left England at 17 years of age and came to America to study law at Stanford University and ironically, broke the law more times than she upheld it in court. Or course, no one ever knew except for her partners in her perversity, her father and brother. Anastacia's mother had long since died and would never have tolerated such bestial acts in her life under her roof.

Those despicable humiliations had killed the fragile grasp he hd on sanity. He had come to love Anastacia and her father and brother in a twisted sort of way. As they tortured him mercilessly he dreamed of their happiness at his breaking, the begging, pleading and screaming he did. He imagined carving little designs into the skin of Lord Henry's shiny smooth scalp, running a sharp blade around the sides of his head and removing the skin. Then he would punch out the designs and hang it on the wall.

For Julien, he could do almost anything. When Julien could get him alone he brought the silver links and chained him to the wall. As Magnus had his fun Julien would think about peeling back the skin from Magnus' hands, slowly and gently and oh-so-carefully detaching the muscles from the bones but Anastacia would always come in and then Julien had another fantasy to live.

Anastacia was an interesting thing to ponder. The two men full of potential for breaking but Anastacia was different. He wanted her to cry and and beg and writhe in ecstasy as he worked on her. The mouth between her legs was as interesting as the mouth she whispered such divinely foul things to him with, and he longed to explore that cave.

The cell phone vibrating in Julie's pocket brought her out of the trance-like state. She dug the phone out of her pocket and hit a button.

"Hello?"

Her mother's voice rasped through the speaker. "Julie, where are you?"

"At a concert, Mother," she replied.

"Why are you at a concert, Julie?" The constant rattle in her mother's throat became more pronounced with each word.

"Mother–"

Ella cut her off. "You know your grandmother told you not to go to the concert," she hissed. "Now come back home." The phone beeped softly, signaling that Ella had hung up.

Julie slipped the phone back into her pocket. Her mother and grandmother could just stew by themselves for a little bit. Julie wasn't going to let them devour her soul at home much less at a concert she had been wanting to see for such a long time. Well, she was staying right here until the concert was over. If they really wanted her they could come and get her.
Chapter end notes: I don't know why I thought up this story. Guess maybe nighttime does something to your writing sense and makes you do strange little things in notebooks. Read and review and tell me if it was too weird.
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