Suggested Audio Candy:
Air “Cherry Blossom Girl”
Diane Foster is one elegant lady. She has real class, intelligence and poise; the likes of which horror hasn’t seen in decades. We are blessed that she has chosen this field to ply her trade as it gives us our own screen icon to cherish. A role model with which to aspire, she stands out from the crowd like a dazzling beacon, casting an illumination over every one of us and touching our hearts habitually through, not only her sass and sensuality, but more critically through carrying herself with such resplendent grace in all that she does.
Recently the Keeper has been in his most primal state, championing all that is animalistic about our Dark Queen. I’ve assessed her inimitable prowess and effortless sexuality, exploring her exquisitely fitted pelt and glorious assets. Well it is time we look at our monarch from an offset vantage, explore the Lady and pay homage to her breath-taking beauty, not just surface level but deep within her scrumptious core.
I make no attempt to conceal the fact that I perceive her as the absolute apex of perfection from a visceral standpoint; there is simply no other who inhabits their skin quite so flagrantly. But beauty is, after all, only skin deep so I am reaching deeper within for my answers here. Lady Die is a most fitting mantle as she bears great semblance to the people’s princess.
Now that is a bold statement but one that I stand by vehemently. It’s je ne sais pas ce que; to try and pinpoint is fruitless as she just has that way about her. Any auteur worth their salt has the ability to tell a story through just a look or facial movement. Lady Die has that knack; her yearning peepers invite you into her deepest fears and desires and every feature surrounding lends itself to corroborating.
They take us back to other lifetimes passed and this is one of the factors which encourages comparisons against the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Katherine Hepburn. Both were unmistakable beauties and also true professionals but there were, after all, two of them. For Diane to possess the essence of both, whilst exhibiting entirely her own style speaks volumes for her authenticity.
Tonight Grueheads I task you with creating a scene. Keeper shall lead you part of the way by offering my own visualization of how this rendezvous plays out. Our locale is a fine Italian restaurant overlooking the quayside. It is that glorious instance when the sun is sheepishly beginning to recess, leaving a burnt orange hue in the skies. I sit anxiously at my table. the finest in the house, awaiting her imminent arrival. My palms are clammy and my throat closing up through sheer jagged nerves, but that is all about to change.
At the precise moment the clock strikes the hour she practically sails in unmistakably. In the moment my peepers are presented with the first dance, everything around her appears to simply cease being. Time stops, and everything halts with it. Except for Lady Die, she ghosts along in an almost ethereal manner, like a majestic cygnet as she passes her muted onlookers.
I say muted; inside minds are racing. Husbands are attempting not to make obvious their leering gaze, all the while imagining just one moment in her embrace. As for their wives…they’re doing the self-same. Despite this being the most troublesome eatery in the entire district to gain a reservation, its dense population seem not to exist in her eyes. They are locked into mine ferociously, giving me that full attention every man craves. Instantly, my palms are dry and my throat lubricated once more.
I stand in advance and position myself by her seat, preparing the welcome a truly lady such as she requisites. As she approaches I become lost in her delicate beauty; every divine feature amalgamates to form such an intoxication that remaining vertical is by means assured. It’s as though my tummy houses a thousand crystals, all of which shatter to reveal butterflies in synchronicity the moment she nears.
She offers her meticulously manicured hand which feels welcoming and affectionate, then leans in to kiss both cheeks in turn. Palms become tacky once more as her aroma rushes into both nostrils, stinging them sweetly in the process. That fleeting whiff then hits me like smelling salts as she glides past and into her seating. Fully alert now, surrounding reality appears to reconvene, although relative silence lingers while I seat myself once more.
I glance over the table at her on occasion just to get a glimpse of her soft neckline and celestial shoulder-blades, exhaling slowly each time just to remain top-side. There is a radiant glow of warmth about her which lights her vicinity exquisitely, and I bask in the sunny rays she emits. It is nigh on impossible to divert long enough to peruse the menu options so I ask for my bloody Prime Rib and she does likewise.
Dialogue is two-way as she takes an interest, allowing my every sentence to finish and holding fierce eye-contact at all times. Any early jitters have long since dissipated as Lady Die makes me feel like the only person in the room. This is a forte of our Queen’s; the ability to gift each of her addressees her full undivided during any tête-à-tête , making one feel valid and appreciated.
Do I desire her the whole time? Unflinchingly, but just to glance pelts would be heavenly, the feel of her delicate wrist brushing my cheek or her deep red lip gloss smudging along the back of my neck as her mouth traces the skin tantalizingly. Prayers answered, right there. Just the very thought is sufficient to send pulses of pleasure to every fiber in my framework.
One more glass of claret is called for as we await dessert, just to blur any edges creeping in. Whilst feeling mostly at ease, there are very occasional flashes of crimson fury which punctuate her softness. It exists in her peepers, swirling undercurrents of reckless rage which threaten to spill forth but remain in control until which time she pleases.
A few sips of the vino and I begin to slur my words, could it be that I’m inebriated? I prides myself on his careful pacing so as not to court any madness. However my lids are beginning to droop, flickering wildly as they attempt not to shut out the utopian ocular buffet before me. Try as I may, it is out of my hands now.
I awaken with a start, cursing my memory’s clean slate as I survey my surroundings frantically. It is home, I am tucked into my own sheets still fully clothed and well rested. No migraines kicking in or tastes of sickness; instead I feel as though I’ve just received a course of full-body colonics whilst out cold. As I recline back into the indentation of my pillow, a bracing whirl of summertime warmth guzzles over my every sense and I recall with a calm smile that lost evening with a true lady.
Heaven Through the Eyes of an Angel
I occasionally ponder the kingdom of heaven
Yet not hoisted high in the skies
This nirvana exists on the tips of our lips
Every time we get frisked by her eyes
The clouds step aside, choppy waters are calm
It is she who invites such tranquility
With bled crimson petals clutched deep in her palm
Scatters seed through organic ability
Certain things can’t be taught, are ingrained in our souls
The stars just align in these cases
Not all of life’s mysteries are meant to be solved
Not all kisses tell through embraces
Try and fathom some sense and no answers you’ll find
Every truth shall reduce to a lie
Let her into your mind for your soul she will prize
Thus affording true sight through her eyes
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
First Knight of TOK
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013