Oh, now we're getting into the "heart" of possible worlds. Van may have very mixed emotions about being in a world in which Sauron is perhaps not such a monster, and in which he himself is able to experience sexual ecstasy without the fear of fatally harming his partner, but in which Elgalad doesn't exist (or, at least, doesn't have his same existence as Van's beloved protegé), but things may be very different for Coldagnir, if this is indeed a "possible" world in which he hasn't had to wield a whip of fire or eat the marrow from elven bones.
Which side of "the door" would Coldagnir choose, given the opportunity? The world in which he hasn't had the chance to do such evil, or the one in which he has the chance to make amends?
"In the long blind explosion he heard his own torn voice. He rushed into her: thought, bone, opened veins, and the sum of what he was poured into his seed. Her body sang around the pounding of his release and it subsumed him, made a double heartbeat of his orgasm. His hands tightened on her hips and pulsed again and she drank up all the gathered frustrations, all of his ruthless, gnawing hunger. It racked him in ecstasy so profound that it bled into agony and she was there, outside of his skin and inside of it, holding him in her breath, smoothing him down with warm fingers. The last of it passed through him in a sweet and drowsy wind, lulling his clamoring blood, and she fell over him like a dusk of moist skin and blessed him with her hair and sleepy smile and a single panting kiss that tasted of brimstone. A scent of dreams came in off the desert, wrapped up in starlight and the memory of heat."
That has to be the most breathtaking orgasm I have ever read! Seriously, you lady's out do yourselves in this story, it will never stop amazing me. The imagery, the wording, it is poetry and pounding emotions, and sweeping plot twists all at its finest!
"Elgalad, he thought, with a sudden drop that left his heart hollow. Did he exist in this world? If he did, he had never known Vanimórë and that hurt him. He felt it like a death, as if some mocking god had taken away something sweet and precious, the little gem he had hidden, the only thing that had not been taken from him. He pounded the emotion down, brutal with himself because he had to be. It went beyond irony – this longing for familiarity, for his old life, for he would have to be truly insane to wish to go back to that. Yet it was what he knew, and he had molded a life for himself, even as life had molded him, so that he fitted into it. That sense of not fitting was what beat panic-wings about his mind."
This part is still so hard to read! No matter how much delight Van takes in this new found 'freedom' I wonder if it will ever be quite real. It is almost a torture to dangle what could be before him, yet the cost of what could be, this freedom, is so high. Free of Sauron, but the only thing he's ever love taken. Worse then taken form him, for it was as if Elgalad had never been.
Your story has an excellent plot and you've marvelously described your characters and their surroundings. Please continue.
Author's Response: Oh, we are. We're six chapters ahead and posting one chapter per week, every Saturday, so we can stay ahead. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. :-)
I suppose it's okay if I review *your* writing on this, Pink :)
It's amazing to see this up, and I know it would not look anything like this but for your editing.
Your Mordor fascinated me in Dawn, the first time I came across it, and Lugmokí; the orc-blood, who seemed so exotic, nothing like the orcs of Tolkien. It is an adventure and pleasure to step into it (or possibly out of it :D - those doors d;-) )
It was also enthralling to see some of Lugmokí's own powers, and to realize (with quite a shock) that she and Vanimórë are both *made* by Sauron, different Sauron's, but his creation in a way, and through that, not dissimilar.
As she rose up out of the water a sense of velvet shadow moved inside her skin, and out of this strange shadow came the suppressed scent of an iron dungeon and lightless stones glutted with ancient blood underscored by the slow burn of balrog-skin. Her eyes flew open and she saw only the baths, the damp walls fashioned out of thirsty sandstone and the dull pink marble pillars, and the black woman humming beneath her breath as she rubbed cinnamon-scented soap suds into her hair. She sat in the water and listened to its stone-bound restlessness, the echo of it off the ceiling, and reached deep into the darkness of her mind. There are no balrogs here, and no dungeons, so who is carrying these memories? These very old memories.
She had never felt the stamp of the First Age upon anyone but Sauron, and Sauron was in Mordor, and had he not been in Mordor he would not have felt like this. Here there was anger so old that it was woven into the songs of cells and fibers and veins, and brokenness, and a great measure of wrought-iron compassion, and there was a restless passion scented with the petals of strange flowers. Sauron did not feel like this.
The way she felt that was superbly introduced.
Thank you for letting me write with you.
Wow! This was just as gorgeous as I remembered :D
He breathed in and smelled rose-beds in hot gardens, the hawthorn odor of Elgalad’s hair, never forgotten, he smelled the air before a storm, and other scents that his memory chased and could not recognize. He felt silk and rain on hot skin and sex, tasted wine and fruit bleeding sweet juice and coppery blood. If the door had been a person, he or she would be that storm of tempting, visceral beauty."
That was so beautiful, I felt as if I could smell, taste, feel the door myself!