Bite of Art (closed)

Perplexia

Romance embellisher
Joined
Jul 25, 2007
Posts
18,221
Sheila Davis was 24 and a semi established artist. She'd been recruited by one of the largest publishing houses in New York City as a graphic artist. Most of the graphic novel writers drew the pictures themselves. Some worked with partners, and others couldn't be bothered and hired outsiders, or used the ones on staff at their publishing companies.

In some regards she felt like a sellout, doing art for graphic novels. She could be doing her own. But since her fiance's accident and death she hadn't found the inspiration. They had a dream they were just starting to put into motion. She would draw, he would write, and together they would create a graphic novel that no one had ever seen before. When he died, he took that dream with him.

She was surprised when she got the offer from the book company. But it came at a time to when she needed a change. Barely graduating college, she hadn't placed a pen to paper in a while. It had almost been a year since she lost him, and the feelings were still as raw as they were the day he was taken.

With both of her parents gone, she had no one to fall back on. Now she was alone in the world, working at a restaurant as a waitress barely getting by. When she interviewed for the position she asked where they had found her resume. The interviewer advised she wasn't privy to that information, and asked some basic questions and stepped out for a few moments to come back in and offer it to her. The pay they offered was more then the typical artist would receive, as well as all moving expenses and Realtor services were as well. It was truly a dream job. The flat she received was astounding, as well as the company car that was provided for her. Who drives in NYC she thought when they handed her the keys. There were also perks such as a house for weekend or week getaways in the Hamptons.

For the first couple of weeks she was given basic busy work. Designing some covers and recreating some images. It felt good to get her pen back to paper. Then she was called into the manager of her divisions office. "We've been pleased with the work you've been doing here, and we want to send you out to do the drawings for one of our writers." he advised her.
"Ok" was the only response she could come up with, glad that they weren't firing her.
"He's a well established graphic novelist that has recently lost his artist. He's a bit of a recluse, and lives out in Pennsylvania in the middle of nowhere. You'll have a rental car and a suite at the closest inn, as well as a daily allowance for expenses. You're to fly out in two days and a limo will take you to the town to pick up your car."
"Sounds great, do i know who he is?" she asked trying to wrap her head around the idea she was getting to finally work with a writer.
"Perhaps his pen name is Victor Valhalla"
Sheila's mouth dropped then she closed it gripping her chair in excitement. He was one of her all time favorite writers. He'd had several different graphic novel series over the years. Little to nothing was known about him, but his writing was extraordinary.
What she did know is he had used the same artist for his novels for many years. She assumed he would be in his late fifties at this point.

Over the next couple of days she was beside herself with excitement. She was even at the airport three hours early, just to be sure she didn't miss her flight. The new security measures irritated her slightly. But her overall demure was ecstatic.

Her meeting with the writer was scheduled for the next day. She picked out her best outfit, as well as went through her portfolio for the millionth time. The drive out to his place took a lot longer then she anticipated. When they said it was in the middle of no where. They weren't kidding. But coming upon it after taking quite a few back roads she was not disappointed. The man lived in a castle, literally. The acreage surrounding it looked like something out of a medieval novel. It was breathtaking.

She knocked nervously upon the front door and greeted by a butler. The butler was in typical uniform as were the rest of the staff that she glanced upon. Everything was neat and tidy. Being advised that she was early, it would be a half hour or so until the Master of the house would be able to see her. Being led into a drawing room she stood by the windows that over looked the garden and peered over the array of flowers that seemed to be perfectly aligned.
 
In the middle of know where Victor Valhalla called home. He was not the typical writer he had a secret. Something only the staff that worked for him and his last artist knew. Despite his secret his first love was writing and drawing. But he found it better to just focus on his writing and letting someone else focus on the art work. Victors last artist Samantha passed away a few months ago when the cancer killed her*

Victor could have stopped the cancer before it even started with a single bite. But did not he held his secret from her till her dying day. It was then she knew why he aged slowly if at all over there long partnership. Victor a 1200 year old vampire could have turned her with little or no effort. But he had not bitten a human in over 200 years. He grew sick of humans over the years. Only feeding off deer and wild animals to survive. Was there something that turned victor off about humans. Yes there was but he kept it buried deep inside of him.*

After Samantha's death victor knew he had to find an artist to replace her. He wanted the same style that Samantha had but who ever it was had to also have a style of there own. So the hunt was on calling old friends in the art world. Untill this new artist was found. Victor knew very little about her just that she was female had no family and was very talented. Hoping that she was the one so he would not have to hunt any longer. It would be a shame if he would have to wait to put out his next series of works.*

As the butler came into his office victor looked at him. " Master, the young artist is here waiting for you in the drawing room. ". Victor nodded his head as he purposely made her wait. Drinking last nights fresh kill he put the glass down after waiting about 20 minutes then making his way to the drawing room. *

Victor walked in he looked like he was in his 30's. Short dark hair with a bit of a goatee. Standing about 6'3 with a athletic build. He walked into the room sitting down behind the desk. Grabbing her portfolio as he sat down flipping through the pictures.*
 
( cont)
As he flipped through the pages his only words was " No...no..." Until he got to one specific piece of work. It was a vampire feeding off of a young woman. The lines on the picture called to Victor. The way the girl layed there with the vampire feeding from her thigh. The look of orgasmic bliss over her face. It was one victor had seen many times in his 1200 years walking this earth.*

Spinning the picture around he held it up. " I love this... It's perfect." spinning the picture around he looked at it closer. " I see they finally sent me an artist that can do what I need done for my next series of graphic novels." Looking over at her flashing a smile. " Your hired... If you can give me work like this." pointing to the picture. " You and I will be working together for a long time."*

Victor pulled out a three ring binder placing it on the table. " This is my next novel..spend a day and read it. I need something for a cover and a few pages of artwork." the book was only marked as working title it was about a vampire that trapped by a vampire hunter. Victor wondered what she could do with it. Hopped for more like the piece that he liked. *
 
"Thank you so much" she said with a burst of giddish energy. "I will have some rough drawing for you in a couple of days. I promise you won't be disappointed sir."

Her initial thought when he came in was that he looked so much younger then she thought he would. Perhaps he started his career as a child prodigy. She took the binder from him and held it close to her heart. She was going to read the next Victor Valhalla book before it was even published. Oh how she could die a million deaths from the joy that pulsated through her veins.

It didn't hurt that he looked like Robert Downy Jr. either. She pulled out a pad of paper from her purse and jotted down her information for the hotel she was at with her room number. "I'll call and arrange an appointment with you in a couple days. Or if you need me in the mean time just give me a call."

What could he possibly need her for she had no idea. But figured it was the professional thing to do. Rising from the chair she smiled thanking him again as she was escorted to the front door.

Driving to the hotel her mind was racing. She couldn't wait to sit down and read. Picking up some Chinese food she sat down on her bed with his manuscript. Wiping her fingers fully before touching the book at all. Picking up a sketchbook she read and her hands seem to work on their own. Page after page of inspiration poured through her as she read each page he gave her. When she was done, Her she had begun her second sketch book with drawings. She continued on drawing rough figures that could turn into something wonderful. It was if she was possessed by inspiration and moved to create the masterpieces no one had ever seen.

Going back of the drawings she began to spend more time on them. Creating a more visual feel with the lines and the shading. Before she knew it she had worked through noon of the next day. Hours and hours she had poured of her soul into the sketches.

Calling his butler she advised she'd have a messenger drop them off for Mr. Valhalla's review. After the messenger came to pick up the package to take the sketchbooks and manuscript back to Mr. Valhalla, Sheila went to sleep. It was her first real sleep in a long time.
 
Victor sat at his desk and pressed his fingers against his temples in an effort to relieve the tension that was building behind his eyes. It takes a lot to give a Vampire a headache, but somehow this new artist managed to give him one.

Her illustrations were spread across his desk. He shuffled some of the more promising ones to the top. They were good… from an artistic perspective some were very good. He knew great art, he was even there when much of it was created and knew many of the world's great artists personally. He knew these were technically proficient, but they lacked the spark that had caught his attention in the work he saw at their first meeting.

“God I miss Samantha” he mumbled to himself. His former artist instinctively knew what he wanted from her. Though she did not know his true nature until the very end, she understood the passion and ecstasy that his art demanded. If he didn’t know any better, he might have believed that she had actually felt the rapturous sting of the fang.

This new one… She’s going to have to be trained, weather she likes it or not. She is going to have to learn to embody and convey the heady lust that blood brings. The mutual rapture that a feeding conveys. Unfortunately, he was going to have to be the one who teaches her.

“Wendell!” He called for his assistant. Wendell had been with him for 30 years and Victor sadly realized that all too soon he would have to begin the arduous task of finding a replacement. Why did humans have to be so damned fragile?

“Please summon Ms. Davis to the house immediately. She has got some explaining to do.”
 
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The phone rang as she stepped out of the shower. "hello" she answered in typical format. The butler advised her that Mr. Valhalla wanted to see her immediately. When her response was she'd be there in an hour, his response was "A Hour is not immediately." Biting her lip from responding with what she wanted to say, she responded "I'm on my way".

pulling her hair back she put the wet toweled red locks into a ponytail. Throwing on a sundress she grabbed her art case and essentials and headed back out to his house.

On second examination the house seemed to scream "RUN". Perhaps it was her mood since the butler was so rude with her. Perhaps it was the fear of him not liking what she'd spent so much time on.

As she was led to the drawing room once again she decided on second thought he really looked like Hrithik Roshan. His face was just as expressive as it was the last time she'd seen him. There was nothing. did he like them? did he hate them?
 
The door to his office opened, and the source of his headache entered. She was dressed in a thin garment known as a Sun Dress in the modern world. Hair, still a bit damp from a recent shower, bobbed in ponytail out of the back of her head.

He sighed heavily. He missed the fashions of the Renaissance. The intricate brocades and many layers lent a mystery to the female form that is all but gone today.

However, what the modern world lacked in fashion sense, it made up for with immodesty. Her exposed shoulders and pulled back hair gave him a clear view of her exposed neck. He did not notice it during their first meeting, since she was dressed in more professional attire then, but the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder was indeed exquisite. He also noticed, to his own surprise, how her pale, slightly freckled skin practically glowed under the artificial light in his office.

He rose from his desk and motioned her to a nearby chair. Picking up one of the better pictures, he held it up.

“Did I not make myself clear yesterday Ms. Davis? Was there anything vague that you feel the need to have clarified or more fully detailed for you? This,” he struck the front of the picture with his free hand sharply, “is not what I am looking for. This,” he struck the picture again more firmly this time, “is something that you would see in a bad Marvel or DC Comic story.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you understand what is is that I do Ms. Davis? Do you fully appreciate the level of skill and craftsmanship that pours into every word? Have you ever even read my work before yesterday?”
 
The tone of his voice caused her to raise an eyebrow, the second time he did it made her nostrils flair.

“Have you read your work recently?” She questioned back in a coolly defiant tone. “Your first graphic novel was ‘Rise from Hell, the birth of Lucius Storm’.

That novel right up to your eighth and even most of your ninth held a passion and a redound truth that made the world you created not only believable, but one generations have followed and idolized.

The art work in it inspired artists like myself to get into the graphic novel illustrations, and writers to use your formatting and passion as a guide of what Graphic novels were supposed to be.

A novel is only as great as the authors love for it, the graphics are only as good as the artists interpretation of that writing." Tossing the latest example on the desk she stared at him directly into his exotic greenish yellow eyes.. “What happened to yours?”
Not waiting for an answer she continued.

“If I had been given one of your first nine to find inspiration from, then that first piece you loved so much, something like that would have been created. Because that piece was based off of your third novel chapter 9.”

Standing up she grabbed her purse. “I can see my way out, I’ll let the agency know that you need someone else."

With that she exited his office and his house. Her tires squealed out of his drive with intent. Once again the irish temper took over and all sense of filter were lost. Yes he was the foundation of graphic novels. But even gods needed to have manners.
 
Victor stood in stunned silence as his artist’s demeanor went from pleasant to fiery in the blink of an eye. His heightened sense of smell detected an increase in heat and a distinct aroma of fear and anger that he had not experienced in almost 200 years. Frankly, it excited him, but her attitude and words were just unacceptable!

How dare she storm out on him like that! How dare she accuse HIM of not creating the best literature ever written! How dare…

“Wendelle!” He called his trusted assistant. “Please call my publisher and tell them that if Ms. Davis is not sent back here immediately, I want her fired. And they will never see another book from me under their imprint again unless she returns!” With that matter taken care of, he sat on the couch and contemplated her words more closely.

Had his writing slipped? Granted sales of the last few books were off from his regular sales, but that often happens with the shifting attitudes and tastes of the reading public. Those damned Twilight books didn’t help either. Vampires don’t “glitter” despite what the young ladies that buy that tripe think. He often thought about showing up at one of their nauseating conventions and giving some of them a taste of what a real Vampire can do, but frankly, it just wasn’t worth the effort.

Hmmm. Not worth the effort. That seems to be a recurring theme in many aspects of his life over the past decade or so. Maybe he should take another look at his manuscript.
 
"No sir, I will not return to that jackass' for more degradation and humiliation..Yes sir, I understand who he is and what an important client he is to the firm. No sir i won't.. But sir.. Well if you want to fire me, fire me..
Well yes sir that is quite an increase in pay, yes i know how temperamental artists are, I won't apologize. Don't you understand sir you're feeding into his overpowered ego? Well yes sir, I would like to visit Europe."

"Ok, uh huh. Let me be sure i understand what you're saying Mr. Andrews. If i go over to his house, i will get the increase in pay, and a fully paid trip to europe. I am under no obligation to apologize, i simply have to return until he fires me. I would like a detailed contract signed and notarized faxed to the hotel and i'll leave once it's received.

Shelia gritted her teeth as the fax came through. Everything plus a bonus disclosure if she lasted a week. She hated these over entitled fucks. Grabbing her purse and keys she headed back out. The butler open the door and escorted her in without a word. Straight into his office. Taking a seat she crossed her legs and her arms and looked directly at him.
 
He could sense her arrival before she ever got out of her car. Such was the rage and anger that she harbored, it literally oozed from her pores and scented the air. “Now that’s more like it. That’s the passion she needs.” He thought to himself.

He positioned himself in a relaxed manner on the couch. You don’t get to be 1,200 years old without learning a thing or two about dealing with humans. His relaxed pose alone should be enough to ignite her passions even higher. If not, then he will have even more work to do.

She came into the office like a whirlwind. Wasted no steps and sat determinedly in the chair opposite him; staring at him without blinking. If looks could kill, he thought to himself, then I’d be dead. Good thing I’m already dead.

He waited a full 10 minutes, waiting to see if she would speak. She didn't, for that matter he didn't think she blinked either, but he knew that was impossible.

“Your back.” It was flatly delivered with no indication of whether her action pleased him or not.

“I take it that you spoke to your employer. So, I’ll make this brief. I think you have what it takes to be my artist. If you agree to work with me and learn from me, I can ensure that your career is very long and very lucrative.”

He left the other side of the offer unspoken.
 
This wasn't what she expected. He was suppose to demand an apology so she could tell him to go to hell. Instead he solidifies her employment.

Here are my conditions she retorted with the same flatness. If you ever speak to me in the same manner you did previously i leave. Others may have endured your temper, but i will not. Looking over briefly at his desk she noticed some papers clipped which she could only assume were manuscripts.

"Not that i have to tell you, but what i have learned from your previous works were that you and your artist were of the same mind. To establish that kind of rapport requires trust, respect and equality. Dipping into her over sized bag she pulled out the graphic novel that her and her belated had done before his death. This, is something that i did with someone i was very close to. I think you can tell much through it between the writing and artwork."

With this she handed it to him gently with much care, and almost not wanting to release it.

"For what you require i'm assuming your last artist lived with you. With that suggestion, which is your own to decide upon, know that if you decide that is the case I require at least one day a week to myself. That isn't negotable, regardless of where i live. My business and life is my own. You are only entitled to know what i feel, if i feel like sharing. My guess is you're use to getting your own way. You've earned that right in many things. I won't tell you how to write, you don't tell me how to draw. If something is missing, you will discuss it with me like an adult. Understand the only reason i'm considering this is because i respect you as the writer you once were. I don't need your recommendation to be an artist, you can check with my agency if you choose and be advised that when they told me they would fire me if i didn't come back here i told them to do just that."

Uncrossing her arms she looked away for a moment. Then spoke again "Is there anything you wish to add to that?"
 
Her demands were not completely unreasonable. He was surprised at her offer to move into the Manse, but it was a moot point. He had already instructed Wendell to make the suite on his floor ready for her, and dispatched a driver to pick up her things at the Inn.

He accepted her manuscript. He did not hold high hopes for it as a “Great Work of Literature,” but it was apparent in her eyes that it was something very special to her. He decided that he would give it a read, if for no other reason than to gain a better understanding of this little fireball.

Little fireball? Where did that come from?

He watched her with more interest as she continued listing her demands. Her hair had started coming loose from its ponytail and the stray strands of red flickered in the light of the room in a very appealing manner. Her chest heaved under the thin fabric of the Sun Dress and by the amount of skin it revealed across her shoulders it was apparent she was braless. He caught himself staring as her chest swayed in time to her words and he forced his eyes back up to hers. Green. Deep green like an ocean eddy. She suddenly turned her head away and his consciousness re-focused on her words.

"Is there anything you wish to add to that?" Then she locked eyes with him again.

Clearing his throat, he rose from the couch to place her manuscript on his desk, but it also gave him an opportunity to clear his head. He leaned back against the edge of his desk and re-engaged her eyes.

“First, you are correct about one thing. Samantha and I did indeed have a very close relationship, but she did not live here in the Manse. She earned my respect and I had her trust, but keep one thing in mind… We were never equals.”

He walked casually over to the sideboard and poured himself a tall glass of ice water. “I’ve already dispatched a driver to collect your belongings at the Inn and Wendell has prepared a Suite for you upstairs. He will show you to it when we are finished here.”

Taking a sip of the cooling water he wondered why his throat was so tight. “The rest of your ‘demands’ are acceptable.” He paused and watched her intently. Walking over to the sideboard had forced her to twist a bit in her chair and her legs were situated in such a way that the hem of the dress had ridden up, exposing a long swath of ivory thigh.

“I have also considered your words from our previous meeting and I have decided to make some revisions to the manuscript. Dinner is at 8:00 in the dining room, Wendell will get you acquainted with where to find anything you may need during your stay, so if there is nothing… ‘you wish to add to that,’ I have some work to do before dinner.”
 
Making the decision to let his ego let him believe there was no equal to him. Wasn't actually that hard for her. He was after all the foundation to graphic novels.

It did set her back that he had been presumptuous that she would take his offer, and that he had already made plans for her to stay there. In some ways it felt like a small victory, in other ways it ignited her to the gall. Once again she just chalked it up to him being use to getting his way.

That in itself would be the closest she would get as an apology from him. He was one of the most infuriating men she had ever come across. But that spark in his eye that was now there didn't escape her notice. The fact that he admited there were revisions that needed to be done meant her words did have some merit to him. She wasn't a psychic and it would have been a bit erie had she hit every nail on the head with him.

But it did also show him she may be young, but she did in fact know his writing. She did know what his novels were and all they could be in the future.

"I think that will be a good start, i'll let you know if i think of anything else" she advised cooly rising. "I'll do my best to be back by dinner, i have some shopping i need to do. I appreciate the assistance of your assistant, but i have gps on my phone. My number is in my details if you find you need anything while i'm out. I look forward working with you Mr. Valhalla." Giving him a slight smile she turned and walked out.

Getting in her car she turned it on, slowly, carefully and methodically she exited his property and headed back toward town. There was only a few things she needed, and of course it could have waited. But it was more of a point she was making. Besides, there was an art store in town and a comic book store she was looking into.

As she browsed through the art department she couldn't help but smile. It had been a long time since someone had pried her temper loose. To do so as quickly as he did was just amazing. He had to at least be ten years older then her minimum, but that man was purely gorgeous. With everything she knew about him, there was only a little known. There was no record of ever being married, or having children. He wasn't one to be found at comic-con, but there was always a representative there with swag bags and autographs pre signed.

The amount of followings he had was astronomical. For him unlike most of the writers these days, it wasn't about the notoriety. Maybe thats what made him her favorite. Not a chance that she would tell him that in any lifetime. A small chuckle escaped her thin lips as she mused.

'I have to get over this school girl crush' she thought still smiling. It would be hard to concentrate if she didn't find some foot hold. 'luckily his majestys personality should be enough to keep me from focusing on those lips, or those eyes or that ass.' Another giggle escaped her lips and she blushed a little.

With some high end drawing and inking supplies, and a few other personal amusement craft supplies, she headed to the thrift store. There was nothing like finding retro clothing for comfort. The baggier the pants and shirts the better. She liked to have full motion when she worked.

Returning back to the Manse in which he called it, she unloaded her trunk and came in the door. Wendall was there to show her up to her suite. There were work supplies in this room she could only have dreamed of owning, much less using. Keeping her emotions in check she didn't wish to show her asstonishment at the luxury he had provided for her. How and when did he do this she wondered, and why?

"Dinner will be served at 8" he advised her." she nodded as he backed out closing her doors. This was definitely a more spacious place then her suite. Sheila washed up, and meandered through her new space. It was very much a her place. Which in itself seemed ironic.

Her fingers trailed over the mahogany stair rail as she came down for dinner.
 
Dressed in a custom made silk Tuxedo, Victor descended the stairs from his chambers and entered the Dining Room. He was a little early, but he wanted to be there when Sheila arrived. He was not sure why he wanted to be there before her, but he felt it was important.

His Tux was Black on Black silk and cut to fit him perfectly. His heavily starched shirt crinkles audibly when he moves, but he knew that would work itself out over the course of the evening. Technically, he did not need to eat at all, and he often just took blood in his office or chambers alone, but when he had guests it was a standing rule that Dinner be formal dress. It was a custom he enjoyed and was sad to see fall out of fashion.

The large Grandfather clock in the main hall struck 8:00, and as the final bell rung, Sheila entered. She was still wearing the same Sun Dress from earlier. The thin fabric almost transparent while she was briefly silhouetted in the doorway. The light in the main hall was much brighter than the candlelit Dining Room.

He sighed in disappointment. Apparently Wendelle failed to mention Dinner’s dress requirements.

“Good evening. I hope that you have found your accommodations to your liking?” He asked while gesturing her to a chair he held out for her. “I assume Wendelle neglected to mention that Dinner here at the Manse is a more formal affair. Never mind, in the future, please dress accordingly.

Our meal this evening is Escargot in a garlic butter sauce, followed by a spring green salad and then Roast Venison in a Hunter Sauce. Shall I send for a Cocktail for you before we begin?”
 
When she entered the dining room she was taken back by its splendor. Her eyes went around the room admiring the craftsmanship of what had to be early 17th century. It was if she had been transported back in time to the Great dining hall of Rohda. The words he used to simply define the dining room alone won him awards in his fourth graphic novel.

The passion of that novel was one of her favorites. The way the light flickered off the picture frames to the marble floors beneath, it was all part of a world he had created which very few could understand. Just the magnificence of the room itself was enough to make her eyes glisten with tears.

Then her eyes fell upon him. He was dressed to the nines in a black tux, which made her almost swoon. The way he looked at her and the sound of his voice in disappointment over her attire made her feel about five inches tall. A tear followed by two fell from the corner of her eyes.

She coughed softly and turned her head taking in a deep breath to regain her standing. “I apologize, I appreciate the effort your cook must have gone through for this welcome dinner. I truly , truly do. I am sure for those that like those sort of eccentric meals they are superb. When I say that I do not like escargot or venison. please do not take offense or think I’m trying to be difficult. I assure you that is not the case.

I will create a list of foods I will eat for your kitchen so I don’t disappoint you again in this area. I seem to be extremely under dressed as well. I think perhaps I did too much shopping in town earlier. I’m feeling a bit poorly. Please excuse me; I think I’ll retire early”.

With that she gave a slight curtsy and turned fleeing the room entirely.
How embarrassing it was to be taken over with emotion over a dining room.

Then her eyes set on him and she felt that sexual hunger from her body. It had been a long time since she’d laid eyes on a man and wanted to be bounced up and down like his rag doll.

The way she must appear to him, over dramatic, temper ridden child. Yes it did matter that she was just reduced to a blubbering puddle.

To top it off she was starving. But there was no way she was going to be able to keep her composure in his presence at this point.

Tomorrow she would go to the dining room alone and absorb its lines, it’s curves and its smell. When she was done with the piece she had in mind it would show the feel of the power of his words in that fourth novel.
 
He stood behind his offered chair dumbfounded. What had just happened? Did she really just leave in tears?

He listened to the soft ticking of the Grandfather Clock in the hallway in silence for several minutes, not moving or even breathing. He slowly turned to Wendell.

“Please see that the staff prepare a more simple meal and bring it to her in her Chambers. I will take blood in my office.”

He quietly left the Dining Room leaving the candles burning and the appetizer course untouched, and retired to his office.

Picking up her book from his desk, he sat on the old leather couch and began to read. What makes this woman tick? He thought to himself while reading. Surely all of his efforts to correct his initial display of disappointment have been for naught. Apparently 1,200 years was not enough time to fully understand humans… especially this human.

Wendelle appeared with his blood in a fine crystal goblet.

“Wendelle… Please ensure that Ms. Davis has an adequate wardrobe for future events here during her stay. If she does not have them, acquire them for her tomorrow. I don’t wish her to be embarrassed again.”

Taking a sip of blood, he returned to his reading.

After several hours, he was impressed. It was good. Very good. With work it could even be great. The impact of the authors words and her art made an impact on him, but how can he help her achieve greatness if he can not even get her to sit at a dinner table?

“Art.” He said the word aloud such was the force with which the idea came to him.

Neglecting the hour, he began walking to her Chambers. His loose tie fluttered around his neck as he ascended the stairs with unnatural speed and grace.

Knocking on her door, he realized absently that he still held her book.
 
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What had seemed like a fun ride down the staircase had now turned to her horror, as she moved step after step that seemingly never ended.

Her nipples poked through her sundress waiting for his gorgeous lips to take ahold of them.

Sheila shed her clothes from her petite frame and stepped into the multi headed shower. Beads of water rolled and vibrated off of her flesh wave after wave until her tears had finally stopped.

Was it guilt she was feeling for being attracted to another man? Was it her artistic curse of emotions that betrayed her?. Perhaps it was a combination of a million things.

Most avid readers have their favorite book. Most avid movie goers have their favorite movie. There is something that speaks to them on a personal level that makes what they’ve read or seen belong to them.

Novel four was something that her and her fiancé had shared. From beginning to end they had discussed and enjoyed the classic. It was because of her doodling and the sketch that she made from his words that started their dream. He came up with the plot and together they created the first and only book.

Reaching into her bag she pulled out the framed original piece she’d created based on it. Her eyes went over it, the likeliness of the room she stepped into was over whelming. Placing it on the table she began to unpack.

There was a knock at the door and the sound of a tray being set at it. She brought in the ornate serving tray and uncovered the meal that was left for her.

A nice big juicy burger and home made onion rings with a side salad stood before her. Laughing a little at the china dish it was served on she enjoyed her meal with the can of dr. pepper.

With her meal gone, and the unpacking complete, she settled herself in the large king size super comfy canopy bed.

A knock came and woke her from her slumber. Looking at the clock it was four am. Crawling out of the bed in her purple flannel peace signed pajama bottoms and mismatched over sized t’ shirt she moved to the door and turned on the light.

Opening it rubbing her eyes. “Mr. Valhalla? Are you wanting to start work?” she yawned.
 
When she opened the door he knew immediately that he had awoken her. Her hair was mussed in that unique way that only slumber can produce. Her nightshirt, though oversized, did nothing to hide the swell of her bosom beneath.

Quietly, he states, “I know it is late for you, but come with me. I have something to show you.”
 
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Sheila rubbed her eyes and nodded with another yawn. "Late, early it doesn't matter." Grabbing her robe from the back of the door she put it on w/ her slippers and trailed after him.
 
He guided her back downstairs and then down several long hallways lined with precious art. Each piece was illuminated as if in a museum. He wanted to show her the painting that had given him inspiration for his afternoons rewrites. Show her the passion and the rapture that it held so that it may inspire her to achieve the same.

They entered a large gallery filled again with more art, and without hesitation he drew her close to a 4x7 foot painting. Le Ravissement de Psyche or The Abduction of Psyche by William Bouguereau.

Standing closely behind her, he placed her book upon a nearby table and his hands on her shoulders. His chin grazed her tossed hair as he asked quietly, “Do you know it?”
 
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“I’m going to need a weekend just to explore this place” she mused mostly to herself as he led her back downstairs. Hall after hall was lined with what she presumed were original paintings.

Some had even been thought lost. She had to study art history in college, several she recognized right away.

He moved swiftly and she couldn't help but check out his ass as he led her where he wanted. She had stopped several times to taken in some of the glorious wonders his hall held. Only to have to rush to catch back up with him.

Eventually he stopped before The abduction of Psyche. She had no choice but to stand in front of him to get the view. She tensed when he placed his hands on her shoulders, “do you know it?” he asked in a tone she hadn't yet heard from him. It was soft and laced with admiration.

“yes, I always found title off. She clearly doesn't look like she’s being abducted. Its as if she had pined for her guardian angel to descend and rescue her from her loneliness. He doesn't seem aware though.

He doesn’t recognize the way she feels being so close to him. Or the love and relief to finally be where she’s dreamed of; Instead he seems as if he’s doing a task, doing his job. Trying to extend comfort because it’s part of his job, not his heart.
That was always my interpretation of it anyway. What is yours? "
 
Victor wrapped an arm around her and pointed at the canvas.

“I wanted you to note the sheer rapture expressed in Psyche’s face.” In truth, he was beginning to notice many similarities between the face on the wall the the woman before him. The rich color of her hair; the elegant arch of her brow; the graceful accent provided by her high cheekbones; the delicate point of her chin, all resembled Sheila’s. How had he not noticed earlier?

“Do you see the delicate contour of her thighs, the hint of her essence peaking out from the cloth that envelops them both.” He moved forward, pressing closer, speaking quietly so that he would not break her concentration during the viewing.

“This is Psyche’s final ascent into The Heavens with Cupid. They have conquered mortal love and thwarted the will of Venus. Psyche has been made immortal after taking the Ambrosia, and Cupid knows that only the ecstasy of the universe awaits them. He is on the final leg of his mission. He is determined to be with her for eternity.

Can you sense the passion? Can you taste the lust? Can you feel the hardened strength of this couple?”
 
Her body froze as he wrapped his arm around her. The strength and the passion in his voice were clear.

I see an artist that hid the true beauty of what they are by a cloth. I see her passion, her desires, and her hopes. From him I merely see coldness. I can see how she hopes that he is with him for eternity, but not his.

He holds her tightly so she will not fall. Yet she hopes that its for another reason. But that is art after all, it’s open to interpretation.

Words are needed to express the true meaning. She moved out of his embrace. I understand what you’re trying to do."

She took a step back from him. “If you will humor me, and first lead me back to the stairs so I can retrieve something from my room, and meet me back in the dining room. I think I can make amends for my earlier reaction.”

Making her way back to her chambers she took a moment to compose herself behind the closed door. He was simply trying to exhibit a point she convinced herself by his touch. But she couldn't look at him in his eyes. Not those golden orbs or a even worse if he had cocked a smile she would have lost it.

Picking up the frame off of her desk she traced her fingers over it for a moment. Cradling it against her she went in her bag and found his novel that inspired it. With both in tow she took it down the stairs to the dining room.

“Stand here”. She requested lightly to where she stood earlier. Setting the picture face down she opened up the page of his book that inspired the photo.

"I have been drawing and doodling things that inspire me all of my life. When I met Henry we were both in college together, he was a literature major, and I was an art major. He introduced me to graphic novels. He introduced me to your world. This one is our favorite. This page inspired my first piece of graphic novel artwork. Henry died about a year ago. The book I gave you earlier was our only attempt at a novel. I know its not perfect, but I had it bound after his death as a tribute to what was. I didn't want it published because he hadn't had the chance to edit it or anything.”

Taking a deep breath she continued. So this is what I created from the words you put on the page. This is what your words inspired me to see.” With that she picked up the framed artwork and handed it to him.
 
She stepped away asking to be escorted back to her room, stating that she could make “amends” for her previous reactions.

What nonsense is this now? Is she going to yell at him like an “equal,” or run off in tears again? This woman was infuriating, but, without a word, he picked up her book from the table and escorted her to the stairwell as requested.

The sound of his leather soles clicked on the stone floors in contrast to the shuffling of her slippers. At the base of the stairs, he silently turned into the Dining Room, leaving her to complete her task before rejoining him.

Placing the book on the table, he sat angrily into the Head Chair of the long Mahogany table, and felt a stirring begin that he had not felt since he had forsaken human blood 200 years previously. It was a stirring of a very primitive nature. It was Anger, Lust and Hunger all rolled into one. It was something he had worked very hard to suppress, but he felt now as if that might have been a mistake all along.

When she returned, she carried a copy of his fourth book and a framed picture. He stood where she requested and proceeded to listen to her words.

The picture she handed him was stunning. It was dark. It held passion. It conveyed the essence of the work she said inspired it. It also gently fanned the spark of the stirrings he felt while awaiting her return. It was magnificent.

“I inspired this? Or was it Henry?” He locked his eyes with hers in an unspoken demand for the truth.
 
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