Step Up to the Wolf! [Literary; M/F, F/F, M/M; possibilities for M2F TS]

[Steppenwolf]

Greetings, fair traveller and thank you for taking the time to look at my request thread. Here is where I shall be posting my ideas as and when I get them. I have a few extra ones in the pipeline but below are a few varied ones to kick things off. Before I get on to the plots, I will post a brief list of preferences and I shall provide a couple of examples of my writing at the end.

Requirements/Stipulations:

1. I am open to playing with writers of all genders; all I ask is that you can write. I am also willing and eager to discuss any ideas you have, be they original or modifications of my own ideas below.

2. I'm not looking for another Shakespeare, Shelley, Nabokov or Wilde but I am only looking for people who have a decent level of literacy. Short posts are fine when there is conversation going on or when it is otherwise deemed a necessity but aside from that I'd ask that you are able to post a minimum average of 3 decent paragraphs per post; if you can write more, all the better.

3. Please only state your interest in a story or idea if you are prepared to be committed to it. I understand that life often calls us away unexpectedly and this I can accept but otherwise I would ask that you don't waste my time or yours.

4. Sex is fun but without a good plot to back it up, stories become stale very quickly.

5. As ever, character control is paramount. I control my character and you control yours. NPCs can be shared and communication while writing is something which I value highly.

Preferences:

1. I am open to any setting or genre as long as the story interests me, though I do have a particular liking for realistic scenarios and for horror, be it realistic horror or supernatural. I am also interested in reworkings of classic works of literary or cinematic fiction.

2. Sexually I am very open but I do have some turn-offs; namely I'm not into furries or anthros of any kind, I dislike pregnancy and scat; watersports do little for me and vore has thus far found no place in my writing.

3. If you want to provide me with a treat, I do have a thing for anal and pre-op M2F transsexual women. I also tend to like my women to be slim and petite and do not enjoy playing dominant male characters in homosexual pairings.

~Plots~

Benighted (F/F)

I am currently playing this story but I like it so if you like it too, consider it open :)
Content
F/F, discovery, religious persecution; can include an element of non-con if you wish.
Setting
A religious town or commune; the time frame could be modern, historical or the story could take place in a fantasy realm.
Plot
Two teenage girls (16 & 16-19) live in a strictly religious town where homosexuality is viewed as being heretical. Despite their faithful indoctrination, they develop a strong attraction to each other and begin to explore their sexuality together away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk. What will happen when their secret is discovered?

This could could go a number of ways, from the youths fleeing the town and everything they ever knew, to any variation of religious persecution (simple prejudice, banishment, physical or sexual abuse or even being sentenced to death. PM me with any ideas or preferences you have.)

Looking for
Someone to play the slightly older and bolder of the two girls.

Title inspiration

Opeth - Benighted
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDIIGsf-i_g

Come into this night
Here we'll be gone
So far away
From our weak and crumbling lives
Come into this night
When days are done
Lost and astray
In what's vanished from your eyes

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

Come into this night
Your plight alone
Carry your weight
You are flawed as all of us
Come into this night
Your only home
It's never too late
To repent, suffer the loss

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

What came and distorted your sight
Saw you benighted by your fright

Come into this night
When you're able
To undo your deeds
And atone with your lonely soul
Once you're into this night
All minds are stable
Forget all your needs
Lose the grip of all control

Devoutness Despoiled (M/M)

Content
M/M, non-con; further possibilities: bondage.
Setting
Historical, monastery.
Plot
A fresh-faced youth is sent by his domineering father to become a monk. He is innocent, naïve and full of doubt, yet sees little option but to obey his father's will. Within the monastery he catches the eye of an older but still youthful monk (I'm thinking late 20's) who has at times faced his own difficulties with his chosen path. The new recruit's innocence awakens the older monk's desires and the youth's doubts reawaken his own. The monk's resolve begins to wane and crumble and soon it is shattered for good. How far into the depths of damnation and depravity will he descend? And what will become of the youth?

Looking for
Someone to play the older, dominant male character.

At the End of the Road (Any; input desired!)

Setting
Modern, science-fiction.
Plot
This has potential but I'm not sure in which direction it lies. If you've read Arkady and Boris Strugatsky's "Roadside Picnic" or seen Andrei Tarkovsky's film adaptation "Stalker" you'll know the set-up; if not it is roughly as follows (though I have only seen the film - and even that was a while ago - so forgive me if I err):

An extraterrestrial event dubbed The Visitation occurs simultaneously in 6 places around Earth, extending over a period of 2 day. Neither the visitors nor their means of transport were seen by those who lived in the relatively small area (a few square kilometres) of each of the Visitation Zones. Each Zone now exhibits strange and dangerous phenomena and physical anomalies; the very land itself seems to rearrange itself at will.

The Zones are cordoned off by authorities and people are forbidden from entering, yet a few select people called "stalkers" (thieves who enter the zone hoping to recover extra-terrestrial artefacts) profit from sneaking others into the Zones. The attraction for the clients they guide through the dangers? The Zones are reputed to have the power to grant an individual their innermost desires. However, what a person truly desires and what they think they desire are often drastically different.

I'm not entirely sure where I would like to go with it but as I said: I think it has potential. I thought perhaps the story could begin or continue to the time following a client's return from one of the Zones; how will their desires manifest? Perhaps they return to the Stalker for help. PM me with any ideas you have!

Looking for
Inspiration!

Irrefutable Attraction (M/F) ***TAKEN***

Content
M/F, age difference; possibilities: romance, non-con.
Setting
Modern
Plot
Elena Pires is 16 years old and an aspiring [swimmer/tennis player/chess player/musician] (her pursuit is not important and is open to discussion; PM me with your ideas or preferences. I will entertain ideas not listed here). She begins to receive tuition from a male coach (aged ~30) who becomes completely enraptured by the beautiful youth. Whether his feelings are initially reciprocated is open to discussion but inevitably they become embroiled.

The catch? Her parents would frown upon a relationship with a man almost twice her age and the man himself would not have chosen to fall for someone so young but his attraction to her will not be denied. I figure this would work best if one of them - or perhaps both - wanted to keep the budding relationship secret (it may be more interesting if one of them wants to keep it secret and the other does not; again, PM me with your ideas/preferences!). As with everything else, I've kept room here for discussion. How will they meet their difficulties? One idea could be that they wind up travelling together to be alone (à la Nabokov's Lolita); perhaps Elena even begins to grow bored of her older companion. You know what to do; PMs please.

Looking for
Someone to play Elena.

Stalker (any pairing) ***TAKEN***

Content
Stalking, psychology, very open to non-consensual but this is open to discussion.
Setting
Most likely a modern city but if you'd like to set it in another place or time, please do PM me your ideas!
Plot
Fairly self-explanatory, I would think! I was thinking that an attractive young woman acquires an obsessive admirer who simply must have her. The stalker could be male or female (or trans) and I would like if we got a good view of their psychology and of how their obsession develops. How will they respond when their initial advances are spurned? Or will they be well-adjusted enough to even approach her in a normal manner in the first place? Ideally, I'd like the story to be dark and creepy and for the stalkee to be well and truly freaked out, whether or not she secretly likes the attention.

Looking for
A stalker! If you really want to play the stalkee, feel free to try to convince me to play the stalker. At present though, I am actually quite interested in playing a young woman who is stalked by an obsessive, unbalanced male or crazy female. If the plot/idea interests you, do PM me and tell me about your preferences and between us we can thrash out the details.

There are more plots and ideas to come but I shall leave you with a handful of seeds; if you can cultivate any of them please do offer me the fruit!

Pairings (unless stipulated, I am willing to play either character):

Firefly: River Tam & O/C (I would like to play opposite River here)
M & M2F (Note that if I am playing the trans character I do not wish to top)
F & M2F
F & F
Human & Vampire

Loose ends:

1. [Horror]A boat/ship floats docks with the entire crew missing or deceased. This is inspired by the arrival of the Demeter to Whitby in Bram Stoker's Dracula (or more accruately, it came to me watching the ship bearing Count Orlok arriving at Wisborg in F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu: eine Symphonie des Grauens). This could take place absolutely anywhere at any time; any element of horror may be strengthened if it were docking in a secluded place such as Antarctica. Following on from that...TAKEN

2. [Horror/Science Fiction]A story set at Vostok Station, Lake Vostok, Antarctica. Such a barren and desolate place almost has horror written into its very location. If you don't agree, watch John Carpenter's The Thing or read H.P. Lovecraft's (admittedly sub-par) At the Mountains of Madness. For some reason I'm particularly interested in playing out an F/F scene here but any ideas you have at all are welcome. Drop them in my inbox!

3. [Horror/Science Fiction]This one also stems from the idea of a seemingly abandoned ship, only this time the ship is a spacecraft. Again, coming across a seemingly lifeless vessel in the desolate, lonely expanse of intergalactic space is a scenario just begging for horrific exploitation. What could have caused the disappearance of the crew? It could be anything, though my immediate leanings are towards ghostly, supernatural causes or even... vampires in space. Why the hell not?!


Lastly, I promised you some examples of my writing. If you're interested, here are a couple of excerpts:

My introduction to "Faust", currently in play with Faustus

I

Our tale begins in Heaven's bright abode; three angels sing their praises to their lord. Beneath them lies the vast expanse named the cosmos, wherein myriad balls of rock and gas revolve around furnaces bright and hot, hurtling through empty space. Though the very nothingness is alive with improbable fluctuations there sits one globe unlike the rest; one jade and azure sphere three planets from its sun. It is she the angels eulogise; to her creator do they extol her virtues. Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" Let us go and make our visit.

=o=

"The sun bathes it in its light," spake the archangel Raphael, the great healer, bedecked in golden robes. "The seas shimmer, the grasses gleam with glorious luminescence, and when the clouds draw close does tumultuous thunder mark the falling of the rains, which give life unto to the plains."

"Yea, and oft they are the curtains which draw to mark the end of day and beckon forth the night, whence the sky becomes a canvas for the stars and the darkness smothers all man's plight. Their senses give them wonder, o Lord, and when they behold Earth's splendour, then do they know your might," declared the empyrean envoy, the messenger angel Gabriel, who once foretold the coming of the lord's own son to the sacred lands of Bethlehem. From his back two wings did sprout, large and magnificent, as white as freshly fallen snow.

And then Michael spake, the protector prince, and his voice was sweet with reverence.

"The spheres do race from place to place but always on their course, and when man shall come to know their pace, they then too shall know your force. We too marvel at Earth's turning, your paradise created, and those who you crafted in your likeness. It is a wonder, o Lord, as ever has it been."

Then all three joined in one voice, a choir of the like which man could not conceive.

"The sight of it gives angels power, though none can understand the way. All your noble work is ours, as bright as on the primal day."

All the while one stood bemused, his robes as black as soot. Delegate of the fallen angel he was and on his face was drawn a grin sardonic. Mephistopheles was his name and he beheld the lord God with less favour than the rest. His back was bare, his profile trim, and centuries in Pandemonium had paled his skin.

"Forgive me Lord, my tongue is not as honeyed as these others; too oft I have communed with those reviled. I confess too that my eyes see not the sweetness upon the Earth as much as I see the beastial nature of man. All this you gave him," he gestured down below, "and more. Reason you gave him, yet what purpose has it served but to act as a yoke upon the weak and a pedestal for the strong? Reason lies in the mind, yet they reason with arms and veiled threats, misdirection and sickly corruption. In passions and intoxication do they proclaim Earth's beauty but when pleasure fades they damn life and with it damn each other."

"Oh you do so like to moan," replied the Lord. "Tell me, is nothing right on Earth?"

"To tell it true, my Lord, I fear they are getting worse. Every day their understanding grows, yet every day they repeat their own mistakes and find new ways to spread misery amongst their ranks. They fancy themselves as gods but have not the strength to love unconditionally; their fear is too great."

"And what do they fear, pray tell me?"

"Uncertainty. Each other. At times, even themselves," said Mephistopheles with a smirk. "We may need another Sodom, if not today... perhaps Gomorrah."

The Lord met him with a tolerant smile and his eyes betrayed a pleasant thought.

"Do you know Faust?" he asked.

"The young Doctor?"

"My servant, first," corrected the Almighty.

"But of course," came the reply with a curt nod. "Though he serves you in a peculiar manner. He does not exhibit much devoutness; his curiosities lead him into darkest depths and at times, so far does he plunge into despair that I fear he might not see the morrow."

"He is ever searching - searching for his true path - and he shall find it. Fruit and flowers shall revere his arrival into glory."

"Perhaps..." drawled the Dark Prince's emissary, and a sparkle came upon his eye. "But would you care to wager?"

"My sweet Mephisto," replied the Lord with humour, "you I've never hated, though through you I speak to one whose face shall never again see the glory of Heaven's divine expanse. What do you propose?"

Gracefully Mephistopheles drew his hands together, his palms apart, his fingers straight and pressed lightly tip to tip.

"Simply this: allow me to draw his path and we shall see if his devoutness is as unbending as you claim."

The Lord was not unfazed and met the would-be devil with a smile assured.

"As my Faust does breathe, so you may test him, for while man strives he errs," he proclaimed, and Mephistopheles replied:

"Good! My thanks," he bowed. "I shall tempt him but not precipitate his demise, though should he fall... Sin shall have another hellhound in her womb."

"Yes, yes; you've said your part and won your wager. Now go. Tempt him, test him, do as you will but do not break your word. And when the time comes, stand in amazement. Even in their darkest hour the good know virtue's way."

=o=

And so it was that beneath the brilliant arches of Heaven's splendid dome the wager was forged, for even God seeks validation, and pranksters victims.

An excerpt from "Red Rain", in play with Bumblebird (horror)

Maximilian pulled up the collar of his heavy black overcoat as he stepped out into the harsh boreal cold, a biting wind causing him to narrow the lids of the two pale, blue eyes which peered out from beneath the fur that lined his snug-fitting winter hat. Behind him the bar's repugnant neon lights spelled out the name of The Beaver Dam for all to see; before him, the town of Big White stood shrouded in freshly fallen snow, the blankets growing steadily as white flakes continued to drift downward from the pitch night sky. He strayed a little from the entrance of the establishment and stood awhile, reluctant to leave alone. Purveying the scene about him he noted that tonight was a sleepy one in Big White and nearly five minutes passed before a slender young man emerged from The Beaver Dam, tugging his neck gaiter up over his mouth and nose. Max waited for the man to reach him before excusing himself and asking if he wouldn't mind him walking with him.

"I hope you don't mind," he said apologetically, "I'm a little drunk and these disappearances have me spooked." The other man gave him a quizzical look and Max noted the queer colour of his eyes; deathly pale they were, almost anemic in appearance. He had an amiable look to him all the same and the kind of face that almost compels one to trust another without so much as an introduction.

"Disappearances? Hysteria, more like," replied the young man with grinning eyes. "Nothing ever happens in Big White; a lynx or a wolf kills one guy and anyone who hasn't been home for a few days is declared missing by the media. But yeah, walk with me if you like. I'm not going far though."

"Well..." Max replied sheepishly, "you can never be too careful, can you?"

"I guess that's true. Now come on, it's not standing around weather."

Max laughed and the two went on their way. The stranger - Dave, he said his name was - had the right of it. The night was cold and though the wind blew only intermittently it did so with animosity, cutting right through layers of clothing so that should one pause for longer than a few minutes it would set your teeth to chattering. They conversed spasmodically as they walked, united by little but that their respective destinations lay in the same direction. Dave claimed to work in construction - though his build did little to support his claim - while Max responded that he himself was between jobs; even Alaska's remoteness offered little escape from economic strife, it seemed. The epicentre of the town dropped away behind them and the more distance they covered, the more distance that began to appear between the buildings they passed. Contrary to the name, Big White was not that big and soon the area about them was littered with open spaces buried beneath pristine drifts of white snow, dully reflecting what little of the moonlight made it through the overcast canopy of the night to the earth below.

"So can I ask if you're always so cautious?" the young man inquired after they'd been walking a while.

"Not really... I just don't understand violence amongst men; it disturbs me. Most species survive by co-operating with each other, yet men seem to have a penchant for violence which I don't get. Call me soft-hearted," he replied with a modest smile, glancing at his companion. Dave was about an inch taller than he was and his eyes looked as though - like the land around them - they were covered in snow. Max wondered jokingly if there weren't colour hidden beneath his pallid irises, waiting for the thaw of spring to set it free.

"Violence is part of nature too," came the reply, after a moment's pondering. "Look at monkeys: one tribe of monkeys co-operates but if a rival tribe intrude on their territory they'll chase them off or beat them to death trying. It's like the yin and the yang."

Max's lips shrugged in supposition, though in truth he found Dave's answer unsatisfactory. Monkeys lacked the kind of immediate global communication which man alone was privy to and with one part of the world's population relying on economic balance and the rest starving, it seemed to him that the race had enough worries without creating dangers within their own ranks. Humans were capable of great love, yet often they chose to pursue senseless violence in its place. And then...

"Where... where are we?"

Two eyes squinted through quickening snowfall, whirling amidst untamed gusts of wind; two ominously pale eyes as blanched and colourless as the land which engulfed them. Max turned his head and scanned their surroundings but their location seemed alien to him. Then again, this was nothing new; in many ways Big White had seemed alien to him since the day he first set foot in the town. Foreboding whispers chased each other on the breeze and manifested in the young man's mind; dark thoughts which were not his own.

"I don't know," came the reply, a voice as soothing as siren's deathly song. "The snow... there's so much snow."

"But... we've been following the road. I... I feel light-headed... Did someone spike my drink?" The speaker's world span, all was white interposed with darkness and reality became blurred. Dave stopped, pressed his eyelids together and opened them but to no avail. How long had they been walking? "No, I don't think so." Max's voice, somewhere... somewhere. He heard movement - boots whispering softly against the snow - and through the haze two pale, blue eyes ringed in crimson appeared before him. The young man had only time to whimper pathetically as Max's left hand gripped him by the face - the other clamping down with absurd strength on his shoulder - teeth closed around the skin of his neck as two razor-sharp fangs sank bit into his flesh and with a violent twist of his head the vampire tore his throat out. A crimson rain speckled the snow at their feet; blood gushed forth from ruptured arteries and stained the skin around Max's mouth as he gorged himself on the undead-preserving nectar. Darkness became Dave's world until the end. The pain did not last long; consciousness slipped away like sand through open fingers and come the morning there would be one more disappearance - one more mysterious death, should the snows not cover the body. All around Big White the snow was falling fast.

An excerpt from "Edge of a Knife", in play with Dualomniblades (fantasy)

   "The lady asked what we were hunting, your highness," Thyrak reminded him with a wary gaze, the honorific mere salt to season a blunt remark, his cynicism regarding Talvi's company momentarily replaced by suspicion over the king's apparent hesitance to reveal the subject of their quest; surely such information should be offered up as paramount. The king regarded him with a curiously playful glint in his eyes.

   "Tell me," he spoke, "does the word lohikaarym mean anything to you?"

   "Legends," Thyrak replied brusquely. "Magical creatures which roamed the Great Plains in the Olden Days; prized as pets to mages and warlocks until their extinction... or so the tales would have it." He recalled a song about a mage and his failures in love, and the death wrought upon him in his pursuit of great power. The song mentioned the lohikaarym, though only in passing.

   She would have given the stars to him,
   but the old mage was blinded
   by the lohikaarym...

   "Indeed... But you sound skeptical. I cannot blame you, I suppose, but I have reason to believe that they are still extant," the king replied, drawing something from a pocket in his robes and proffering it to them both. His fingers opened to reveal a large taloned foot, reminiscent of an eagle's but blue in hue, with jaundiced fissures and four long, curved toes tipped with obsidian sickles. It was easily larger than that of any bird of flight of which Thyrak had ever seen.

   "You are not afraid of magic, I trust?"

   Thyrak scoffed. It was a ploy, he knew, to tickle his pride and imbue him with a lust for success, but a needless ploy it was. A skeptic he may have been, but the warrior had always been drawn to the dark side, to the fantastical and the magical. If the lohikaarym still existed, he would find one and bring it back to the Mountain King, with or without the help of a woman. Shortly thereafter, he and his unlikely companion were shown to their quarters, informed of meal times and assured that they would be aptly equipped with provisions for their journey the following morning. Thyrak barely made eye contact with Talvi but when he thought she wasn't looking he allowed his eyes to peruse her slender, shapely body as he had done once before, in a tavern many leagues from here. She was brazen, he recalled, and almost chuckled aloud at the memory of her emasculating a would-be suitor. What she lacked in brawn, she certainly made up for in boldness, and she was very easy on the eyes.

   The room set out for him was large but sparsely furnished, a sign of the decline of the king's influence and wealth. His bed was spacious enough, but the window was cracked and the walls stood bare; it seemed to have stood in neglect for some time. He laid out what provisions he had brought, most important of all a collection of deathly poisons in sturdy glass vials which he oft wrapped in fabrics to keep them from clinking. If the king was apt to provide them with rations and more, he would need to repack, and he must also seek out a whetstone upon which he might sharpen his blades. Along with the sword he wore on his hip, Thyrak was prone to carrying daggers in his boots, sleeves or anywhere else he could conceal a blade.

   At the window he gazed out into the bleached landscape below, off into the distance and his imminent destination. The prospect of encountering a fabled beast of yore provided him with more intrigue than was commonplace in the life of a sell-sword, but it did not take long for the excitement to wane. A foot proved nothing, he thought. The king may have gone made for all I know. Give me flesh and blood and I will believe. And with that his thoughts returned to the only flesh and blood he was certain to know upon his travels. He would not shed his doubts over Talvi's prowess without good reason, but neither would he entirely begrudge her company over the mountains and beyond. Such an alluring creature may prove to have her uses, be they in battle or not.

An excerpt from "Glenmael Hall", in play with LamentingQuill (horror)

A pale gibbous moon looked down on Liliana and Sean as they entered a quaint little restaurant called An Iasc Dubh, the Irishman stepping forth to hold the door for his date beneath a sign bearing the establishment's name in stylised lettering. Within the restaurant was bedecked with sheen, varnished wood-panelled walls bearing ornate lamps and various paintings of the surrounding landscape; rolling green hills, farmyards and even Glenmael Hall itself were all portrayed in expressionist style.

As the name would suggest - the moniker being Irish for "The Black Fish" - the restaurant specialised in seafood, though the menu listed various dishes from Irish stew to Italian pasta. Sean regaled his beautiful companion with tales of the locale and his bright blue eyes gleamed whenever he laughed, which was oft enough when the conversation brought up stories of the man's youth, apparently filled with drunken capers and wild excursions in the pursuit of escaped donkeys, occasionally both at once.

He spoke comfortably and his manner - both polite and jovial - certainly lived up to the reputation of the Irish as being a welcoming bunch. He exhibited a genuine interest in Liliana too, asking about her past, her work and her interests, and when the subject of her new residence came up he cautiously reminded her that if she ever needed him, he was but a phone call away. He professed that he had never seen the mansion from the inside and where others might have chased after an invitation that very night, Sean simply asked the author if the interior was to her liking and if it was as breath-taking as the outside. That is not to say that he did not desire to accompany her back to Glenmael - only a madman would refuse a night in Liliana's chambers - but he felt it would be overly forward to hint at such upon the first day of their knowing each other.

When the waitress delivered their bill he flashed his date a smile and adamantly - though politely - refused to let her pay for her meal. "Sure you've spent enough in this country and you've only been here a day!" he laughed, his accent charming as he added "Honestly, tonight's been my pleasure; if you want to return this one wee favour then do me the honour of coming out with me again."

=o=

20 minutes drive from An Iasc Dubh, Glenmael Hall was shrouded in darkness. Here the light of the stars was less spoiled by the glow of the towns which littered the base of the hill upon which it sat, though on this night they were veiled by clouds from behind which the moon snuck infrequent glances upon the manor. Along the driveway trees swayed almost imperceptibly, their leaves ruffled by a gentle breeze. The mansion had stood for centuries, though its most recent renovations had left it looking as though it had been erected only yesterday.

Glenmael had been home to many residents throughout the years, many attracted to the spot for its great splendour, others for its history. It was said that Máel Sechnaill mac Domnaill - once High King of Ireland - had resided within its walls, though its appearance differed now to that of the building which had stood a thousand years ago. With the passing of time it often became hard to separate truth from legend and Glenmael was not short on the latter. True enough, there had been a number of mysterious deaths and even a disappearance or two down through the years but no definitive explanation had ever been hit upon. "Haunted" was a word too easily thrown around for any of the locals to truly believe it; superstition in Ireland was not as strong as it had once been.

By the mansion's left wing a large oak tree stirred its branches and with raucous cries a murder of crows took to the air. Above them - now below - a dark shadow seemed to race northward along the thick stone wall and vanished by an open window. Both the shade and the windows - open one minute and closed the next - were phenomena known to but a few who had dared to creep upon the manor's grounds at night; phenomena most commonly attributed to birds and loose hinges susceptible to the winds. There were stories too of moving air within Glenmael Hall, of whispers in the night and secret basements hidden in the foundations.

It was as Liliana was leaving An Iasc Dubh with Sean Flynn that these airy murmurs rippled through the halls Glenmael once more and a distinct chill would have pricked the flesh of anyone present to hear them. In the gloom, a tall, long-haired figure moved from room to room. Vases of flowers which Liliana could only have assumed were placed around the mansion by the real estate agent bristled softly beneath the figure's fingertips; those bearing the first signs of impending death were removed and replaced by fresh blossoms so that no inch of the author's new home would betray her falling in love with it. As the sound of car tyres rolling on gravel sounded outside, the mysterious visage vanished into the depths of the house, and in the front hall the gentle whisper of the wind took on the effect of keening human voices, stirring up from the bowels of the mansion to vanish at the entrance, where something black fell motionless upon the carpet: the cold corpse of a crow.

Thanks for your time!
Steppenwolf

[Steppenwolf]

Edited: plots.

[Steppenwolf]

Updated: 27/03/13

[Steppenwolf]

Added: (Celebrity?) Stalker.