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Kitsune (1st draft) ~ excerpt

December 14, 2010

Tonight, I have ventured out into the city through the neon dashed streets. I can’t wait any more. Snow tumbles lazily from the sky above, nestling and resting where it can. When we reach my destination I step from the warmth of the cab, into the cold December night. Steam pours from a nearby vent, mirroring the vapour of my warm breath as it fans out in front of me. The smell of a nearby hot dog stand makes me feel a little hungry, though I haven’t touched anything that unhealthy for some years now. I should have brought my cigarettes. No matter. Hopefully, soon, such needs, addictions and desires will seem trivial to me. It is time to find and reveal the truth behind a legend. The reality of the tale that has been keeping me awake at night.  

Sirens pass by the end of the road, announcing their careful attendance to someone else’s tragedy. I hear the tap of heels hurrying along the pavement. I hear the hooting of raucous laughter and frivolity, as groups of huddled and shivering, half-dressed, drunken girls clamour in and out of bars. Another New Year approaches. I hear the steady pace of footsteps running down the side streets. I hear them scuffling and slipping on the cobblestones, the sudden pounding of music, then the banging of wooden doors which once again dampen the sound. A couple kiss in the alleyway, oblivious to all but each other. He lifts her up and raises her skirt, she cries out softly as he enters her. She glimpses me as I turn from them and walk across the street, their laughter is still audible as I navigate over the icy kerbs and gutters.

I recall the night that I spent with Naoki and his friends, listening to them spin tales old and new. This particular one caught my attention more than the rest. I am not sure if it was the hushed tones and demure looks which passed between the friends that seemed to give the tale more credence. Or, perhaps it was seeing the trinket that solidified my desire to seek her out. Naoki showed me the trinket as we lay next to each other. Our bodies were still covered in our sweat and sex, as he brushed the trinket over my lips, telling the tale again. When he looked again at the face of the trinket, the lettering present there had changed colour. Naoki said that this must mean that the trinket truly belonged to me, and offered it to me to keep. He seemed worried and more than a little pale.

I make my way across the carriageway toward the park. The freezing fog that cleaves to my hair and face catches in my throat. It builds crystalline shards on the twigs and branches of the trees, which appear white in the intermittent light of the street lamps.

I walk at a slow and steady pace along the path, I am quiet but I know that she can hear me. My breath alone would be enough to draw her out. I pull the trinket from my pocket. I marvel once again at how her name is there, though it is not written, or etched, or carved. It is a part of the stone and always has been.  I head deep into the parkland toward the now frozen lake. No one else will be here at this hour, on this night. I look swiftly around me, glancing from side to side. I am apprehensive, anticipating the sight of her. I am excited to catch the first glimpse of her sinuous advance. I ready myself to run; I am told that she likes the thrill of the hunt better than the taste of the flesh. I set my motion capture camera here and pray that it isn’t stolen.

I head deeper still, toward the oldest part of the park which is walled and gated, housing the bodies and barely legible epitaphs of the long deceased. I hear rustling and movement among the trees and shrubs, though I see no movement. I unbutton my coat, take off my gloves and clamber up on to the slippery, moss dappled wall that separates the park from the old cemetery. I look around from this new, higher vantage point. The world looks somehow different from up here. It appears softer, like a down filled pillow. My heart beat quickens at the thought of making contact with her. I consider calling out her name, though that would certainly be the end of me. None that know it should utter it here, or so the legend goes.

I see her then, slipping and weaving soundlessly between the white stemmed trees. I hold my breath as my pulse quickens. So it is true. Her sinuous form is an awesome sight. It is captivating to watch her, and I entertain the idea that perhaps I shouldn’t run. Perhaps I should just wait here and study the beauty of her movement and form. But where is the fun in that?

I turn now, jumping from the wall. My feet hit the ice-hardened ground of the cemetery, running. Laughter erupts from me as the squirm of excitement writhes in my belly. The chase is on. I hear her pace accelerate, shadowing my own.

As I run, winding between the crypts and vaulting over headstones, I occasionally catch a glimpse of her black robes. Frenzied flashes of her chestnut hair, animated by the speed of her movement, are perceptible in my peripheral vision as she tries to flank me. I dare not slow my pace enough to look over my shoulder as she would be upon me in a heartbeat.

I double back around a crypt, leaping up on to the lowest of its turrets. I stop now to look for her, but see and hear nothing. It is then that I feel her heat behind me. I hear and feel her breath on the nape of my neck. A shot of adrenaline prompts me to leap from the stone. She catches me as I do, enfolding me in her robes and holding me to her.

We twist around each other, turning and sailing a little way up into the canopy of the trees. Her limbs wrap me in her comforting embrace and her mouth crushes to mine, stealing the laboured breath from me. I writhe from her grip and drop back down, crashing through branches and onto the snow-covered floor. Once again I am running, spurred on by adrenaline and elation. Before long I feel the breath burning in my chest and throat. I vault back over the cemetery wall and dash for the lake praying that the top is frozen enough to hold me. I feel the blood dashing hot through my veins.

As I run, I feel the ice giving way beneath my feet, I hear the first loud cracks echo across the lake and wonder if the microphones attached to the camera will catch both the sound and motion of my imminent death. I feel myself falling now, through the frozen surface. The stabbing, biting sensation shocks me as the icy water touches my skin. I cry out in pain and frustration.

Suddenly, she is there. Her hands pull me up and out of the shards of broken surface ice and again I am enveloped in the warm folds of her robe. As we ascend she kisses me once more, growling softly as she does so. I fight to catch a breath, my lungs dragging in the frosty air. My fingers twine into her hair and I hold her to me, I find that my heart is burning with desire for her.

The feeling confounds me, though it would seem that she feels it too. As our eyes connect I get a glimpse of her strength and elemental power. I also sense her desire. She tears open my clothes, effortlessly exposing my breast to the chill of the night, though I no longer notice the cold. The heat of her against me keeps me warm. We come to rest on a high branch. She looks at me, exposed and vulnerable and sees my lascivious gaze. She bares her teeth, snarling and smiling, and then growls as they puncture the soft flesh of my throat. Her fingers dig into the skin on my hips as she drinks from me. I am elated at the unexpected pleasure which, it seems, will accompany my demise.

My grip tightens in her hair and I find I am sighing loudly with each draught that she pulls from me. My hands find her skin beneath her robes, and trace a path to her hip. As I lightly drag my finger nails over her skin she yields her grip a little and moves her mouth from my neck to my breasts. She mews softly as my cool fingers find and gently caress her inner thigh, tracing a path toward her slit. My fingers sink into her then, stroking inside of her, my thumb covering and pressing into her clit.

I taste my blood on her lips as I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue carefully caressing hers. She begins to touch the soft folds of my cunt. The growing heat and moisture there betray my lust for her. The rhythm of her stoke, matching mine, fuck for fuck. She smiles as her fingers penetrate me and she feels the fluttering and squeezing inside me. My body tenses, my skin becomes taut and I arch myself toward her, urging her fingers deeper.

Then I rest my forehead against hers and we watch as we draw out each others come. The movements and responses of our bodies are parallel, synchronised and perfect. We breathe in time, sighing out our pleasure to each other as our hips rock and we fuck at each others hands.

Our mouths meet in a frenzied kiss as we shudder and twist with the gratification of our climax, each of us clinging to the other. My hand, still tangled in her hair, presses her face to mine. Hers is gripping the soft flesh of my hip, pulling me closer and pushing her fingers into me even deeper as my cunt grips wetly at her careful touch.

She pushes me from her now, sitting back and sighing as she adjusts her robes to cover herself again. I don’t see or hear her speak, but I feel her thought in my mind.

“You belong to me” she says, her gaze bores into my psyche “I have spared your life my lover, but never doubt that I can eat your soul whenever I wish. It is mine now, to do with as I please.” She snatches the trinket from my pocket and shows me the names now set there, hers and my own. “I must go now” she calls from the tree top above me. I stare in disbelief at the trinket “But I will come to you soon.”

I go back to the bench by the lake and pick up my camera. I review the scenes that were captured there. We are there; I see her beautiful form drift across the surface of the lake and snatch me from the failing ice. I am not sleeping, this is no dream. Here is my proof, the story of a lifetime, but who would believe it anyway? This one I think I will keep just for me, and perhaps the occasional fireside tale.

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