<div class="floatleft">(https://68.media.tumblr.com/95fd6679e62e690437e65aca4b07a11f/tumblr_oogroqpARU1tppytvo1_540.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:  Psyche Makropoulos (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=266077.msg13127525#msg13127525)</strong><br/><br/><strong>STAFF</strong><br/><br/><strong>Situation:</strong>Not Yet<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Semele, Open<br/><br/><strong>Content Warning:</strong><em>None</em><br/><br/><br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><em>Your wish is granted.  As you are now, so you shall forever be upon the rise of each new dawn.</em><br/><br/>For years, how many she refused to divulge even to Madame Celeste, the djinni's words had mocked her pride, her youthful foolishness in asking for what was given without wanting what came.  Youth, eternal flawless youth was wondrous at first, a guarantee that she'd never grow old and withered, dried like a formerly lush grape from which the sun had drawn all the nectar and left a wrinkled raisin in its passing.  With every new sunrise she felt reborn, fresh and young and beautiful and she'd always be that way, always the goddess in her beloved's eyes.<br/><br/>Her beloved, even now she could see him standing in the field of just gone straw-gold wheat, heavy feathery heads brushing against the sculpted calves of a just coming into himself man, the muscles visible below his tunic as his brown eyes drank her in and were left ever thirsty for more of Psyche's form.<br/><br/>Her beloved, brown eyes still bright and keen even as his body had taken on the more muscled, heavier set form of a man in his prime, voice confident and commanding as he ran their estate or discharged his duties to the - to that which had been mighty and yet was now fallen and barely remembered - she didn't even like to think of it at all lest the weight of the years crush her spirit past the point where she could raise it back against the horrible weight of a thousand thousand thousand dawns.<br/><br/>Her beloved, still hard and handsome and vigorous in their lovemaking if not quite as frequent at it, hair full but going grey, squinting a little to see into the distance but still capable of holding his Psyche at arm's length and seeing her beauty that had not changed a bit since - since then.  Since her foolish decision.<br/><br/>Her beloved, old now, undeniably old and with limbs that shook as if from a palsy, she beside him in the bed, his head pillowed on her lap and Psyche's hands stroking at his brow, singing to him as she'd never sing to the child she tried so desperately to make with him but which, even if it took hold in her womb, was taken cruelly away each new dawn<br/><br/>Her beloved, dust now in some nameless plain in a land that no longer remembered what it had been.  Yet still the hope, the promise from Madame Celeste that one day her beloved would be reborn, adrift in the ocean of time until a turning of waters washed him ashore here, at the very door of this place, and with his arrival her curse would be lifted and she would be a normal, aging, free girl and reunited with her beloved for a second chance at that which she'd cursed and wasted like a fool.<br/><br/>Every night she watched the door of the Great Room hoping against hope that he would come, that no matter what he looked like she would recognize him as her beloved, but even as hope wrapped its betraying fingers around her heart and squeezed every time a person entered Psyche had learned to willingly make herself numb to its cruel touch and not let it lift her breasts in quickened breath or flush her face with a racing heart.  Well, no more of a racing heart than any extraordinary man or exceptional woman might rouse in her with their presence, for another bit of eternal youth was a sexuality so ripe it threatened to burst her skin unless she sated it, her body screaming for the delightful congress of sex and the possibility of having some strong man's child put in her womb, or even a more Sapphic tryst that would satisfy and not lead to the stinging pain of her virginity spreading in a stain on the sheets below them.  That eagerness to be plucked made her a favorite among those who had a taste for the unspoiled, the eagerly innocent flesh.  The way her body renewed itself also meant she could indulge those clients who wished to corrupt or mortify flesh, to do near terrible things upon it that would break or render useless another girl.<br/><br/>Sometimes they were both in the same client, and then her purse would hang full and fat and tempting to any thief who even dreamed about it, only to be given away to some peasant girl for the glory of a few hours of playing nurse to a child not Psyche's own that she could sit and cradle, coo to, change and bathe and love and even sleep with its tiny head resting on her arm and lips suckling at her milkless breast, pretending for the love of all that she had given away to make her fantasy come to be real.  In the end she'd part, eyes bright with unshed tears that would come out in the privacy of her room, with a family with a babe in arms rich beyond their dreams and with a strange, almost unbelievable tale to tell.<br/><br/>Drifting around the perimeter of the room, head up and eyes taking in everything, she was witness to the pairs that were forming and the delights that awaited them even now being given life.  Thyrnir had returned and he was ever a favorite of hers though they'd never agreed upon an exchange.  Men like him had faced her beloved and impressed him so that the tales he brought back, of their raids and fury and warrior spirit had thrilled her even as she worried about her beloved ending up dead by the hand or axe of one such as Thyrnir.  The Brides said he was as talented with his tongue as he was generous with coin and it was almost a shame how they fleeced him and made him believe he had a discount on services.  Almost.<br/><br/>A new one, her eyes studied him carefully but no spark, no clenching deep in her belly said that he was hers.  A juggler, a singer, as easy on the eyes as his hands made the intricate looping and twisting of the balls appear.  A glance at Mr. Jeffrey and they shared a common though; how had he gotten in?  So long as he had the fee for a Bride, and it appeared he might earn it easily, then all was fine.  Perhaps she should investigate him later to see about retaining him for employment.  Mr. Jeffrey, always Mr. Jeffrey like Celeste was always Madame Celeste, noted her thoughtful look and an arched eyebrow said he would look into the matter.  Psyche gave him a closed lipped smile and briefly lowered her head, thanking him between equals before she continued her circuit.<br/><br/>Araxis was present and Psyche knew that if she went close enough to gaze into his impossibly blue eyes she'd be bargaining to pay him for a night of delight.  Madame Celeste herself had admitted him to her secret garden and it was one of the very, very few times Psyche had seriously courted temptation enough to consider being foolish and trying to play voyeur - or possibly join even at the edge as a minor but still joyful participant in the congress of flesh.<br/><br/>Chantal - her heart hurt for Chantal.  As a way to check that the curse had not been lifted, Psyche had once gone through a ritual of marking herself every night with blade or candle flame or even her own nails to see if her flesh was whole again in the morning.  Like Psyche, Chantal was youthful delight, though more womanly, and her flesh flawless save for two very, very personal scars that Psyche understood so well.  She too would bear them but for her curse, though running up along the great veins of her arms instead across them, cut into her skin by her own hands and a bronze blade as whisper sharp as could be honed, bleeding stinging into the hot bath that turned crimson...only to awake in the dawn in a tub of water that stank of copper pennies and her own foolishness.  Chantal was poured into a corset that Psyche hadn't seen before and instantly envied, not just for the royal purple color but for the way Chantal's voluptuous curves seemed made by the gods for it.  She was striking, truly beautiful, and they were lucky she chose to work for Madame Celeste.<br/><br/>Nick, Mr. Carlton, seemed the ideal customer.  Confident, rich, in charge of himself and so many others that when he needed to cede control to find release far beyond the mere shuddering pumping thrill of an orgasm he would pay handsomely and offer a Bride the rare chance to pamper a man without equal in a way that empowered her and set her above him, above this king of business, and she could fly for days on the heady thrill of it.  Or so she thought it might be.  He didn't have the arrogance of power and wealth that suggested he'd want a Bride as a mere toy for his amusement - that seemed beneath him when all he would need do is quirk a finger at any number of girls who were waiting in the wings to be his.  He was worth investigating further and she needed to make sure he found the proper Bride.<br/><br/>Snogflog, that delightful dynamo of raw power and uninhibited primal sexuality, had selected her client for the night and marked him, and the floor, as hers for the taking.  If he wished to be taken, so much better for him but Psyche did not doubt it was going to happen.  He was quite lucky, few were met by Snogflog with this much enthusiasm and he'd soon learn how tasteful her nether hair was in comparison to her lovely green skin...<br/><br/>Velen lounged, insolently handsome and with illusions so well crafted and practiced about his head that even her jaded eyes delighted in them.  The halo made her snort, audible to him where he sat on the bench, and mirth  from Psyche's eyes to his told Velen that she at least caught the irony of the imagery.  He was so clever, so talented in things beneath and above the sheets, and she'd always wondered just what his tail could do...  Catching him watching with knowing eyes, Psyche raised her eyebrows in a haughty yet wholly insincere display of disapproval and winked before turning away to continue her circle to end up near Semele.<br/><br/>Near, not close, for her guards tensed as Psyche approached and she stayed just out of their zone of angry wariness.  "Miss Semele," she said, voice low and gracious as she bowed, hand to head and heart and lips before rising again.  "Madame Celeste is delighted you've graced us this evening and hopes you find our offerings nearly as delightful as those you've left behind at the Pink Hydra.  How they must miss you already."  Psyche stepped aside, knowing Semele already had an agenda for the evening, but Madame Celeste's courtesies had to be paid as surely as a Bride's price must be paid.<br/><br/>And courtesy through the lips of Psyche cost Madame Celeste nothing.<br/><br/>After she'd withdrawn, Psyche took up a spot near the door, welcoming arrivals and using her height to keep an eye out over the growing crowd.<br/><br/>What a lovely bunch they'd attracted tonight.