The Origin of Sin
Title: Sister Named Desire
Rating: PG-13, pretty tame for Lust
Characters: Lust, Father, and Pride
Words: 601
Notes: This is an original take on the creation of Lust from the manga.
The dagger in Father’s hand is pure silver, gleaming in the light of a few candles in the dark, abandoned church of mud and stone. He turns the ceremonial weapon over in his hands pensively as he raises eyes to his son standing beneath his throne. “Man is not meant to be alone,” he proclaims, piercing young Pride with a stare.
“Yes, Father,” he agrees, always loyal to but never humbled before his creator. Father’s eyes adopt a pleased light and a determined gaze, and he raises the blade before his face without minding the razor edge. With great deliberation, Father lifts his chin, closes his eyes, and tilts the blade diagonally across his smirking lips. The knife slides cleanly through his flesh and picks up a tinge of crimson. Blood pools in the crease of Father’s broken lips and runs down his chin from the corners of his mouth to steadily drip into his open-faced palm.
As the blood accumulates, it morphs and hardens, and the flow from Father’s mouth ceases. He turns his face to watch the power in his hand with knowing eyes then lifts the product of his blood between his forefinger and thumb for his son to admire. Red energy crackles around the small stone in his grasp. Gradually, a black blemish appears on its surface. The spot becomes a wisp, and more organic material accumulates and throbs around the stone. Tendons whip around and tangle themselves together around stretching bones and pulsing veins. Twisted limbs reach out toward Father, but he releases the stone and forces the developing creature to support itself; he’s done enough. The beast leans unsteadily on undeveloped muscles, topples forward, and clings needy to Father’s neck while straddling one of his thighs. Finally, skin ripples over raw muscles and jet-black hair falls over the bare figure of a woman.
Her eyes open and blink, trying to adjust to these new sensations. She slowly raises her purple-eyed gaze to the man in her arms, but never makes it past his lips. In a moment of instinctual desperation she forcefully presses hers against his and captures them in a kiss. She nips and licks all along his unresponsive mouth and smiles headily at her first taste of blood. With a low sigh she melts against his shoulder, kissing her way along the trail of blood to the underside of his jaw, and resumes staring at the man, her creator, her Father.
Throughout the ordeal, Father gazes ahead, his features cold and emotionless, besides the pleased glint in his eyes. “Pride,” he addresses his son, “Greet your sister. Lust.” He tilts his head and locks with her gaze. He hooks a finger under her chin and leads her attention to her new brother. She lets her eyes roam over him and greets the young man with a leer.
“Lust,” he calls pointedly, and her head whips back to him with full attention. “Step down and get dressed. I have a job for you,” Father says without sparing her a glance. She’s shocked; disappointment mars her features. Still, she complies without a word. She crawls down from his lap and steps back slowly. A dark green dress of her own design falls across her form. Before the lingering remnants of Father’s body heat can fade, she turns on her toe and dashes down to her new brother, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, setting her chin on his stiff shoulder, and nuzzling his neck as she awaits these orders. Anything for the man that lit her desire and initiated this lust for life.
Rating: PG-13, pretty tame for Lust
Characters: Lust, Father, and Pride
Words: 601
Notes: This is an original take on the creation of Lust from the manga.
The dagger in Father’s hand is pure silver, gleaming in the light of a few candles in the dark, abandoned church of mud and stone. He turns the ceremonial weapon over in his hands pensively as he raises eyes to his son standing beneath his throne. “Man is not meant to be alone,” he proclaims, piercing young Pride with a stare.
“Yes, Father,” he agrees, always loyal to but never humbled before his creator. Father’s eyes adopt a pleased light and a determined gaze, and he raises the blade before his face without minding the razor edge. With great deliberation, Father lifts his chin, closes his eyes, and tilts the blade diagonally across his smirking lips. The knife slides cleanly through his flesh and picks up a tinge of crimson. Blood pools in the crease of Father’s broken lips and runs down his chin from the corners of his mouth to steadily drip into his open-faced palm.
As the blood accumulates, it morphs and hardens, and the flow from Father’s mouth ceases. He turns his face to watch the power in his hand with knowing eyes then lifts the product of his blood between his forefinger and thumb for his son to admire. Red energy crackles around the small stone in his grasp. Gradually, a black blemish appears on its surface. The spot becomes a wisp, and more organic material accumulates and throbs around the stone. Tendons whip around and tangle themselves together around stretching bones and pulsing veins. Twisted limbs reach out toward Father, but he releases the stone and forces the developing creature to support itself; he’s done enough. The beast leans unsteadily on undeveloped muscles, topples forward, and clings needy to Father’s neck while straddling one of his thighs. Finally, skin ripples over raw muscles and jet-black hair falls over the bare figure of a woman.
Her eyes open and blink, trying to adjust to these new sensations. She slowly raises her purple-eyed gaze to the man in her arms, but never makes it past his lips. In a moment of instinctual desperation she forcefully presses hers against his and captures them in a kiss. She nips and licks all along his unresponsive mouth and smiles headily at her first taste of blood. With a low sigh she melts against his shoulder, kissing her way along the trail of blood to the underside of his jaw, and resumes staring at the man, her creator, her Father.
Throughout the ordeal, Father gazes ahead, his features cold and emotionless, besides the pleased glint in his eyes. “Pride,” he addresses his son, “Greet your sister. Lust.” He tilts his head and locks with her gaze. He hooks a finger under her chin and leads her attention to her new brother. She lets her eyes roam over him and greets the young man with a leer.
“Lust,” he calls pointedly, and her head whips back to him with full attention. “Step down and get dressed. I have a job for you,” Father says without sparing her a glance. She’s shocked; disappointment mars her features. Still, she complies without a word. She crawls down from his lap and steps back slowly. A dark green dress of her own design falls across her form. Before the lingering remnants of Father’s body heat can fade, she turns on her toe and dashes down to her new brother, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, setting her chin on his stiff shoulder, and nuzzling his neck as she awaits these orders. Anything for the man that lit her desire and initiated this lust for life.