Current Time: 05:42 pm EST

~The Blackheart Masquerade 2020 ~ Closed



 
Guest
 

Downloadable Entire Thread (For Excel, use Save As...) First | Prev | 5 | 6 | 7
  Creator Post Date

Black Masquerade


Amaterasu

She steps around the tables, twisting a gold wire in her hands. Wind and unravel, extend and retract. The metallic hiss as it is pulled from the pretty bangle on her wrist is reassuring. What fun festivities might she find this night, she wondered.

She wouldn't be left wondering long, certain that when the ball reached it's peak there would be a most spectacular display. It was not the right season for hanging stars from trees but...

Ah. There you are.

A robed figure leaned across the bar and caught the woman's eye. When the shadowed figure moved away, she would follow in a roundabout way, keeping the creature in her sights as it drank and slipped among the guests. The obstacle in her path would seen be dealt with.

The Nun and the Whisperer took a moment to appreciate the view from the lovely second floor window. The Nun being granted a closer view than most would probably enjoy. When the shadowy figure moved to slip away and they were alone at last, the pretty gold wire would come out. In a flash, it wound around that cloaked figure's throat. Constricting, cutting into the skin, crushing the windpipe.

And she whispered, that voice filled with the most delighted emotion which sat at odds with her expressionless countenance, “Won't you tell me a secret, dear sister? Please make it good since it will be your last.”


November 05, 2020 02:51 am

Black Masquerade

Marie Antoinette

Hunched over the bar counter, Marie was busy devouring her fill of scrumptious soul cakes, while her scrutinizing gaze scanned the dimly lit space. Scouring over the dance floor in case one of her siblings decided to indulge in their last dance. It isn't a party until there was blood on the dance floor, and if they wanted a death waltz, she would carry the beat. In the skip of a moment there was a chilling shift in the air. The music seemed to dip as a darkly robed specter slipped behind her and whispered something her in ear. Seriously? For real? An incredulous glance was passed over the source of the voice as the figure quickly dissipated back into the crowd. It was gone just as it had arrived, out of nowhere and back into nothingness.

She seemed flustered, suddenly shaky by the gravity of those whispered words. This must be a jest, surely. She chuckled nervously and shook her head. It took her a moment to gather her wits, and then the realization struck that she must now act quick. Stuffing the last crumbs of cake in her mouth, she leaned over the counter and examined the items till her eyes met the object of her desire. Ah, pointy. A surreptitious grin lit up her face and she bit her lip, deftly sneaking the ice pick and burying it deep within her pouf - lost in the mélange of objects already buried in there till it became just another part of the decorative piece.

Marie Antoinette, armed and delirious, turned her attention back to the masses. Huntress eyes seeking familial prey. Murder was charity, and charity begins at home. Mischief abound, she relocated the robed figure by the central window, struggling frantically in death's rapture - bathed by the moon, and choked by the... sun? She blinked and smirked at the sight. Her whimsical mind was all the amusement she needed, creating its own sense of irony and poetic bedlam. "Ah, Amaterasu", she whispered under her breath and was quickly on the move, swerving through the crowd, cutting this way and that, attention focused, eyes set on her prize for the night.

In a beat of dying heart she was upon her. The ice pick slipped from her hair in one fluid motion and swished in an arc from below, stabbing upwards, piercing along the svelte line of her sibling's swan nape - driven deep into the back her brain. "Summer's over, sweet sister," She sneered beneath the mask and pressed up closer. Her honeyed voice carrying a wintry chill behind her ear, she hooked and twisted the pick inside her harshly, severing the spinal cord from the brainstem, "and so are you."
November 05, 2020 09:04 am

Black Masquerade

Santa Muerte

‘Death comes for us all. Even for kings he comes.’

And maybe even Queens.

They are masters at hiding it seems, her siblings. But monsters know how to hide, do they not? Though the brood was never truly close, Santa Muerte knows exactly the depths her siblings would sink (hopefully six feet deep); she knows because she is cut from the same tainted cloth of greed. They never missed an opportunity to disparage one another to their parents, didn’t they. In fact, had she ever truly liked any of her siblings? No. No, she hadn’t. She liked her ‘way of life’ and her ‘way of life’ was costly.

With the last ‘good evening’ greeting slipping across her lips, Santa Muerte arrives at the bar, gives a coy smile to the bartender. There is a drink she loves more than any other and she plans on having many this evening.

“Kubler Absinthe, please.” She speaks gently to the man but much to her dismay the bartender grabs a bottle of Pernod- a spirit chartreuse in colour not the blanche absinthe she loves. Naturally she is upset (because she is spoiled) and so, the false Reaper turns back to search once more for her siblings. And then she spots her, there, at the same bar, Marie Antoinette. A beautifully extravagant costume that could only be for an overly extravagant sibling.. who is eating cake. Which can mean one thing.. “Viola.”

The name rolls sweetly across the heiress’s lips. She is about to approach the cake eating wench when someone, an uninvited someone, sidles so close she can feel the warmth of their breath through the riding hood that covers her head.

“Sister! Have you heard? A little bird told me Viola is plotting our demise.”

For a few minutes, Eliza stands there, weighing her options. She could kill this sibling, there at the bar, create a scene; or she could wait for a more opportune time. Eliza turns towards Melody (it could only be Melody with that saccharine voice she so despises), venomous words at the ready. Yet she finds herself very much alone. A moment's distraction is all it takes; for as she turns a predatory gaze back to ‘Marie’, the woman is already halfway across the dance floor and heading towards a small group of costumed women on the second floor. Perfect. ‘Santa Muerte’ can kill almost the whole brood with one powerful swipe of her scythe! As she starts from the bar, teeming with excitement, she is stopped; the bartender produces her drink, an opalescent and milky light green.

“Thank you, kind sir.” A forced smile twitches at her lips. She sets the small globe she holds on the porous stone of the bar as an exchange of bills for the drink and tip occurs. But there is also the matter of ‘Marie’ she needs to attend and holding a heavy globe or drink would be too cumbersome really. “I’m Eliza by the way.. if you could just watch my drink for a few minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

He agrees, oddly, and places her drink on the back bar. Drink secure, the woman makes her way through the crowd once more, up the stairs and stops short of Marie. Where had all the other women gone? Didn’t matter really- Eliza gets to speak to Viola, the most extravagant, alone.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” The words are a powerful hiss, full of venom, sarcasm and sanctimony. “With silver bells and cockle shells..” A derisive smile draws up the corners of Death’s lips as razor sharp scythe is drawn back then swung with much force. “And Viola’s all in a row.”

Eliza was never any good at poetry.
November 05, 2020 03:01 pm

Black Masquerade

The Lieutenant

They were all here, all of her sisters. A sneering grin turned the corners of her mouth as she surreptitiously watched them stalk one another. The costumes were all impeccable, but how else would they be? When you're raised in a life of privilege with highly competitive siblings, especially all sisters, nothing but the best could be expected. Especially when vying for Daddy's attention. And money.

She saw Harriet in her Pennywise facade and rolled her eyes briefly. Her younger sister had always been a clown, theatrically playing pranks on her and her other sisters to make them all look bad in the eyes of Daddy. She would be first. It would be easy to lure her into the ladies room, for some girl talk. She even imagined posing her corpse in one of the toilet stalls before confronting the rest.

"Harriot! Don't you just look darling! What are you? Bozo? Ronald MacDonald? Oh! I know! Pennywise!" an acidic smirk followed her jibe.

Ellen started to link her arm into her sister's, "Come dear, let's go powder our noses. I know how much you like pranks and I have an idea for one for Eliza, Lorilei, Moira, and Viola."
November 06, 2020 08:31 am

Black Masquerade

Pennywise
Penny made her way around the ball handing out red balloons and socializing with the attending company. She could see all her sisters all wandering around with the other guest. She was thinking what prank to pull off on them till one of her older sisters came along taking her out of thought.

”Ellen so do you! You costume fits your personality quite well.” Harriot let out a snicker as she wasn’t sure what her sister was playing at. Harriot wasn’t really spoken to by them. That was why she always played little pranks to seek their attention. Daddy had a lot on his plate with her sisters always trying to dig in wallet.

”Okay I can use a break. Huh.. What kind of idea do you have dear sister?” She followed as Ellen took her arm leading the way.
November 06, 2020 07:22 pm

Black Masquerade


The Whisperer
There you are.” The Whisperer’s words were strained, though she wasn’t yet afraid. In her mind, she could talk her way out of this, she always could. “Sweet Moira wasn’t as sweet as she appeared, Sister. She was plotting your death.

The Nun had definitely been plotting someone’s death, but it wasn’t Amaterasu’s. Still, Amatersau didn’t know that. “I did it to protect you…

That wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, even if it were true.

She felt the wire tighten around her throat. A warning?

No. Definitely not a warning.

The Whisperer felt the sting of skin breaking, though it was soon overshadowed by the inability to breathe. She struggled in her sister’s grip, hands reaching up to hers to attempt to pull them away, but Amaterasu’s grip was unrelenting. A silent gasp for air was the last thing to leave The Whisperer’s mouth before succumbing to her own death. Her body fell limp in her sister’s arms.
November 07, 2020 03:43 pm

Black Masquerade

The Nun

Oh, it was a great night. The death that would come would afford her the things that should belong to her, the inheritance that should rightfully be her own; granted, she would still have to share it with anyone that was left, but if the night went well, it would show her just how easily the rest of them could be taken care of.

For now, she could use a breather.

Just to wait out her time, to wait for death to come knocking on that unsuspecting victim.

It was a nice night for taking in the cooler air, to escape the noise from the party; that gliding step would lead her closer toward the doors that would lead her from bustle, it’s too bad that she didn’t notice the opening of another opening, nor would she see the in the shadows (because she was far too giddy with her upcoming windfall) someone that spent many days whispering to all the siblings, pushing them toward this night with murder in their hearts.

She would not be able to think or move fast enough; no, that hand pressed against her back would cause a simple misstep and send the woman to her final doom. No scream could be heard, no residual thud of a body impacting upon earth. Only those who bear witness would be able to say without a doubt, the poisoner got what she deserved as she soared to her death; the only question remaining would be where was her God now?

And Moira Blackheart was no more.
November 07, 2020 07:09 pm

Black Masquerade


Amaterasu

The sun would never seem as brutalizing or unfeeling as this.

Surely there was no sister as chatty as this one who tried to dance her way out of death with some well placed words. But Amaterasu knew a lie when she heard one in this family of lovely little liars filled with greed. Don't be mistaken, Amaterasu didn't really hate her siblings but there wasn't a chance she was going to miss out on such an enticing game.

Money couldn't buy happiness.

However, it could get rid of the majority of obstacles presented when living within the Realm.

As far as Amaterasu was concerned it was better to murder than resort to petty thievery.

The body of her darling sister dropped towards the floor in a heap of dark fabric and silence. No more whispering. And she laid the body down the rest of the way and pulled the wire free, with a satisfying snap and a splatter of blood, it disappeared back into her bracelet. She used a handkerchief to wipe up the bit of sanguine liquid, some of it staining her white and red robes. At least she could play it off as decorative.

Or so she had intended when she straightened fully and was about to return to the party alone. But there was a sharp and sudden pain and all of her muscles stopped working properly. Twitching wildly. Her mind drawing a blank. Was she forgetting something?

She couldn't see that sweet Marie had taken the opportunity to practice her reverse lobotomy technique. But she could feel the twist of something digging around in her skull before.. nothing.

Amaterasu's lips twisted into a grimace that might have been a smile. The first true expression to cross her countenance.
Summer was over indeed. And then her body collapsed in a ragdoll fashion, falling right next to the body of her own victim.

It seemed Lorilei Blackheart had underestimated her family.

Now her blood, too, would be left to drip onto the dancefloor.


November 07, 2020 07:44 pm

Black Masquerade

Marie Antoinette

The ice pick slipped out of brain matter with a high-pitched, keening slurp. Its release brought a squirt of blood rushing out that had her gasping in surprise, as it sprayed all over her lavish dress. She stared in disgust as the body slumped to the floor like a marionette released from its strings. Crumpled in a heap and disheveled, her beautiful robe had now become her shroud. The pool of blood slowly spreading on the floor had her backing away when suddenly she was frozen in place by the chill of a familiar voice.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?”

Eliza. She would have liked her last words to blister through those frothing lips to have been a curse, a baleful spit of sardonic abhorrence to cut and slice her sister right open. Though, the last sight she would see as she craned her neck back would be the gleam of reaper's scythe dancing in the moonlight, and the last sound that emerged from her was a wet gasp; a slick, soaking wet sigh that released her head from the body in a fountain of blood that ran blue.

The giant pouf head was flung high up in the air, released from its bonds now to dance in the clouds before it made its final descent to the ground with a sickening thud, not long after the body had hit the floor. There she lay, Marie Antoinette, dressed to the nines and short of a head, bleeding regality amidst the rabble of bourgeoisie.

Vive la République!
November 07, 2020 10:29 pm

Black Masquerade


The Countess in Bone ~ A Windswept Winter

Winter watched quietly, as winters often do, while carnage and death swept through the room.

All dressed up and nowhere to go, the curtains fell, the ghosts rattled their chains – losing their heads and other appendages perhaps – as the whole of the room erupted to the undertones of music. Black lips curled into an unnerving smile as she watched, slightly dazed, as things began to unfold. She glanced around at the other party-goers and drifted closer to Autumn.

In silence the dark seasons stood side by side as the lighter ones had drifted away, the Summer Sun scorching the earth while Sweet Spring turned into a tumultuous possibility of a storm. Perhaps, the storm had already begun and Winter sat in its shining eye among the watchers and the watched.


November 07, 2020 10:46 pm

Black Masquerade


Medusa

Phantom. Fresh floral scent. A decapitated rose in a garden maze that takes the wanderer.. Nowhere. She, the wanderer. And this, her endless, twining, winding prison of smoldering vapor and constellation eyes that fling themselves like shooting stars about the room. New legends rising to become uncharted skies in the hushed gray obscurity of quiet torment. These the things she spies as she bends lethal limbs and thinks only of plucking those stars from the ebon night.

Until the last note whips to slice the flesh, to bleed the ears. No, hold on. Don't let go. Don't go. Don't go.. To draw them closer, softening, closing in around the throat. Choking. And she stills, chest heaving, tenuously holding onto herself as the black spots flicker at the edges of her vision. The shadows growing deeper. Closing in. Reaching, seeking pandemonium. She closes her eyes and counts. Counts the dreams and the reaper's coins, the number of ribs broken beneath her scared skin. The number of times he drew the life out of her, gulp after gulp.

Stop.

Now is not the time.

Those eyes open. And the madness within them warps and withers the mind. Calls three times louder than fear and grief. Echoes somewhere lower than death in the depths of the abyss. It is softer than a lover's kiss and sharper than the blackhounds teeth and it bays. It howls. It screams for the moon. To the moon and back and it is twice, no, five times as mad as the rage carried in the hollow, rotted places inside of her.

And it is beautiful in its swirl, like a crescent scar. Horrific in its tangent, like a collapsed lung punctured by the cage of ones ribs and filling with blood. Filling up. Up into the throat, out of the mouth and the nose and the eyes. It is teardrops and raindrops and blooddrops dripping down the stalactites and the haunting hell-lights and her cheeks, catching on the corners of her mouths and the point of her chins. Lingering, salty and sweet and wet on the skin.

It is dread. It is something long dead and buried.

And so very..

Very..

Alive.

Then she sighs. All that tension released, she collapses in on herself in a mound of bleeding feathers and stiff snake skins and the bent neck of a violin with snapped strings. And she is laughing, chips of obsidian and bright diamonds and flashing teeth, just like those jester smiles. Until at last the darkness creeps in, for just a moment, sinks into her skin and clips something inside of her that keeps her clinging to reality.

For just a moment, she sees him.
The face! The face! THAT FUCKING FACE! Clear as day, standing there, every detail chiseled artfully and so very sharp. No, no, no, nononono.

Before her mind runs screaming, back into the haze, where everything is soft and ugly and decayed. Where it is safe.

But nowhere is safe, is it. There is no escape.


November 07, 2020 11:33 pm

Black Masquerade

Santa Muerte

‘Death comes to us all; we can only choose how to face it when it comes.’

A smug look of satisfaction overtakes snarling mien while large eyes watch Viola’s head sail through the air. It is at this very moment she feels a tap upon her shoulder. She only turns when her sister’s body and head both meet the ground.

“Yes?” For someone who has just murdered their sibling in cold blood, Eliza oozes calm, confidence. It is the barkeep and he is delivering the sweetest prize, her absinthe. “Oh! Wonderful.. Thank you.” A sincere smile, she raises her glass to the man in a toast then takes a very long draught. “I almost forgot-”

The glass falls away from the hand that now clutches delicate neck. There is pain deep within her chest, she cannot breathe and her skin feels afire. Poison. Green eyes fix their gaze on the man.. who is simply staring. Her eyes plead for assistance but he doesn’t move. What does he gain from killing her? He is not a Blackheart.

“Moira sends her love.” The corner of his mouth hitches upward.

“You.. you think you will be paid?” There is malice in her words as she takes an unsteady step towards the man. Foam is filling her mouth with every breath she is robbed. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, is fighting the cage it resides. Skeletal hands fly forward, grab hold of her assassin and she, deranged with pain, stares at the man who is suddenly quite uneasy she has yet to die. “Blood will have blood..”

He recognises the quote. The meaning. The potential threat. Before he has the chance to respond, ‘Santa Muerte’ falls to the ground, convulsing. Wide eyed and foaming at the mouth, the rattle of death marks quietly Eliza’s passing.

‘Santa Muerte, Saint Death, we pray to you to swallow our breath.’
November 15, 2020 04:43 pm
First | Prev | 5 | 6 | 7
Actives (17) Fresh Blood (2) View All
(this month)
The Fallen (1) Graveyard
Naberius Reum, Kayne Morrigan, Elizabeth Hawkins, Maeve, Tenkai, Celeste Donovan, Strahd Von Zarovich, Mallory Quarters, MenagerieSteals3, PCSTEALS, OdDSteals1, MenagerieSteals2, PCsteals 3, SpitiyuraSteal, MenagerieSteals1, PSSteals 2, OdDSteals2  Tenkai
Bleu 
Nightmare Moonlight 
Home | Profile | Forums | F.A.Q. | Donate | Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Cookie Policy | Contact Us
Created by Arctic Moon Studios. All rights reserved. © Bloodletting 2006-2020

Official Sites for Bloodletting
Blog | Twitter