Page 12 of My Carmilla
Carmilla took my extended hand, and her arresting smile unfurled like a moonflower.
The music, almost forgotten, swirled back into focus, a heady waltz that filled the air. Carmilla settled her hand on my waist.
We swayed together, a dance of unspoken words, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. A confession caught in my throat, like a trapped bird yearning to escape the cage. How I longed to tear away our masks, to whisper the truth that burned in my heart, but I held my tongue captive.
Perhaps that was well enough, because conversation seemed unnecessary, a clumsy attempt to express what our bodies already communicated. Every touch, every brush of our bodies, was a spark igniting a wildfire within me. The flames licked at the edges of my control, threatening to consume me whole.
The music swelled, and the crescendo mirrored the rising heat of the moment. The world narrowed to just her. Her pomegranate-mouth.
I couldn't tell who initiated the kiss. Only that our lips met in a clash, tender and urgent. She tasted like ripe fruit kissed by the summer sun and something wild, intoxicating. Dark desire pulsed through me, raw and primal, throbbing in tune to the music. How I wanted to kiss away the memory of that night, to erase every ill touch that beast had placed on her skin. To brand her skin with my own touch, claim her as my own.
“Laura? Carmilla?”
The voice of my governess jolted my thoughts. Carmilla and I broke away. A thread of silver stretched and snapped between our lips, proof of the entanglement we were creating.
“We’re coming,” I called out. I tore my gaze from Carmilla’s lips, flushed and slightly swollen. A blush burned across my cheeks. Shame battled with the thrill of the stolen moment, a delicious tension that coursed through my veins.
Carmilla regained her composure with practiced ease, smoothing her crimson dress.
“Whatever are you doing here?” said Madame Perrodon, swiping aside the curtain to the balcony.
“The effort of all the dancing caught up to me,” said Carmilla. “Laura was kind enough to escort me so that I might get some fresh air.”
“Is that so?” Madame Perrodon shepherded back to the ballroom. She scanned the guests. Some were drifting towards the exit, their carriages waiting in a line of glittering coaches. “There, she is.”
She had spotted Artemisia’s party and we followed behind my governess.
“Write to me more often, will you?” Mademoiselle De Lafontaine planted a kiss on her niece’s cheek.
Viola approached me, seeing her maid occupied . “Might I have a word, Miss Laura?”
“Yes?”
Her gaze swept over the sea of masks and landed on the one of black lace. “It would do you well to remember appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, the most beautiful gardens harbor the deadliest thorns.”
Before I could formulate a response, Viola turned and glided away, rejoining Artemisia and the butler at the entrance.
Chapter 5:
Carmilla hadn’t made her way downstairs this afternoon yet, leaving me preoccupied with my thoughts. I sat at the piano, reliving the sweet heat of last night. We had stolen a kiss under the moonlight, a brief moment that had irrevocably altered something in me and rewrote the boundaries of my world.
The melody flowed from me, a bittersweet sonata. a torrent of emotions crashing against the ivory keys. The lingering taste of Carmilla's kiss still hung heavy on my tongue. My conflicting feelings towards her poured out in rising and falling chords. I was drowning in a sea of conflicting sensations – fear, desire, a possessive adoration that bordered on obsession.
“May I join you?”
Carmilla's voice, a soft caress, startled me like a cymbal crash. I fumbled over the keys.
“Of course,” I said, leaving her space on the bench.
Carmilla moved toward me, the silk of her dress whispering against the wood. She settled beside me. The first notes she played were hesitant, a single, melancholic melody line. Her fingers fluttered, her movements as graceful as a descending arpeggio, then her touch on the keys grew bolder. The piece took on a new life, the tempo rising and gaining a new urgency with each passing note.
I joined in. We moved together, our fingers dancing a passionate waltz across the ivories, a dance both tender and fraught with tension. Her hand grazed mine, and a shiver traced my spine. In her touch, I found a symphony unlike any other. It sent a tremor through me, awakening a hunger I didn't know existed. A part of me recoiled from the intensity, yet a primal whisper within me urged me closer.
Our fingers intertwined on a single key, a brief, unexpected touch that sent a jolt through me. The discordant clang of the doorbell shattered the spell. Carmilla's fingers flinched, the final notes hanging heavy in the air. We disentangled ourselves from the duet.
“Coming.” My father's voice echoed through the foyer, followed by the shuffling of unfamiliar feet. Carmilla and I entered through the parlor doorway, witnessing two men delivering a mountain of ornately wrapped packages.
“Papa, what is all this?”