Sara, Beautiful And Short

Sara, Beautiful And Short

by Rosiekins

It was a winter kissed evening. Light snowflakes sprinkled down in whimsical torrents around her face, and she closed her eyes, dancing in choppy circles beneath the gray entanglements of the trees. It had to have been freezing out there, but that didn't matter much to Sara. She wore a light blue peasant gown, long sleeved, with a white lace bodice catching her ample breasts in its soft finish, her soft curves complimented by the silken touches of her attire. Her hair was a fiery red, which kneaded and flourished about her ivory skinned face in great, velvet waves. Her eyes were a deep turquoise, and doeful. Her lips were wine red, and set in a deep pout. She grazed her fingers over the moss of the tree closest to her, and brushed her face against it seductively, gnawing slightly upon the murky green growth.

"Whatever shall I do? I am a gorgeous, sexy young virgin, alone, ALONE! In the WOODS! AT NIGHT! Where that wretched, formerly headless DEMON suffers, and induces suffering among his victims! Oh, OH! Whatever shall I DO?!" she wailed. A hoot of an owl was her only response, and she jumped, breaking into a bounding run. She panted into the frosty air, her breath huffing out in curls of white mist. But then her great eyes mirrored terror, their pools rippling with shock as she tripped over a root, and went crashing onto the muddied ground.

Leaves splintered beneath her powder white skin, staining her exposed leg with the soot of the wood. Her chin was smeared with filth, and her eyes were welled with tears from the bitter cold, and the fright of her fall. She whimpered at the moon, its lamp like glow floating over and under the troubled clouds. And just as she was about to rise to her bare feet, a hand was presented to her. Her heart danced in surprise, and she parted her luscious lips, her gaze glazing over in a dreamlike stupor. The callused skin was masculine in contrast to her own hand, which she timidly let crawl up to his own.

The stranger's gentle grip was warm, and his fingers bent over her own in a comforting manner. Sara swore she saw fairies glitter sprinkle around their clasp, and that the fairies' sweet song of love at first sight was echoing acutely in the atmosphere. Slowly, she rose her gaunt, lovely face, whose spell binding eyes had been cast over her heaving, partially exposed bosom, were now rolling sensuously upwards. She saw the man was dressed in earth tones. Work clothes, actually. And that he had a gut on him. Oh well, the face is what REALLY matters, Sara reminded her light-headed consciousness. And as her gaze fell over the man's burly brown beard, curious opened mouth, long, red stung nose, and then the beady, dilated eyes, topped off by bushy brows, and equally bushy, unkept hair, her stomach turned.

"Are ye 'ight, meese?" the man asked, with genuine concern. Sara narrowed her now stormy, disgusted eyes at him.

"I'm FINE!" she mumbled, and jerked her hand away from his, immediately turning away to break into another run. She shuddered in sheer nausea. "I deserve much better than THAT ogre!" she hissed to the sky.

She came to a point in the labyrinth of eerie beauty where the darkness swallowed all, except for the occasional blue light from the shattering of thunder. Sara had slowed her pace to a horrified trudge. She threw her arms in front of her to feel where she was going, and kept running into trees. She wished, with the absence of her prior arrogance, that she had told that scraggly old coot she wasn't all right. He would have led her out of the forest. But that wasn't what she had planned.

The thunder crackled with a new urgency, and Sara froze as she heard the faint rolling of hooves against the snow veiled ground. A whinny of a horse followed, a sound of pure insanity, one that made her blood coil and her skin prickle. She smiled, despite her increasing fear. In fact, it was the fear that she relished. The adrenaline poured throughout her petite frame, her heart rapping uncontrollably. The dreaded sound that grew closer and closer to her was like heavenly music against her ears. The tension, the tepid, terrible anxiety, her quivering loins, her hair sweeping across her face in the strengthening currents of all thrilled her to a point of emotional ecstasy.

She could feel the blood of a thousand deaths toil thickly around her, moaning from the sword that rode on his side. The sword which burned with the worst kind of fire. The kind of fire she wanted to warm her now, to melt into her from him.

She let her arms lay numbly at her sides, and she tilted her chin back, her hair trickling down her neck. She opened her eyes just as another stroke of lighting wracked the sky, and as the drumlike sound of the hooves intensified, approaching her.

Then, she stood squarely in the dust of the beast, its hooves scratching the ground. The presence of the demon was no more then a foot away from her dignified stance. His growl was like the ocean's waves were to the purple twilight; the breaker to its perfect perpetual silence.

Sara advanced a step, and felt faint as the moonlight magically slipped from beneath the clouds, gradually revealing more of the Hessian's face. His exquisite blue eyes were silently burning into her, his lips parted into a scowl. He was just as she had heard him to be; a frighteningly beautiful man, with the coldest, most dangerous aura about him.

"Rowr, rowr, ROOWR!" he snarled. Sara blinked.

"He....he...llo," she stammered. The Hessian's eyes condensed to slits, and he jumped off his treacherous pitch-coloured horse. Sara gasped, her blood steaming passionately, warming her skin beneath her light layer of clothing.

"Where might I find Ichabod Crane?" the Horseman asked suddenly, in such a blatant, almost casual tone. Even through her frustrated shock, Sara couldn't help but notice that his voice was richer then anything she had ever tasted.

"He… he… left. A month ago, come... uh, come the 31st," Sara said, her brows furrowing in confusion. Didn't he find her irresistible? Why wasn't he slipping the shoulders of her dress down her sides yet?

"That's quite a pity. Nice company he could have been," the Horseman replied, shaking his head. Sara sighed. No sparks, no fairies. What kind of conspiracy was playing out here?

The Hessian climbed back onto his horse, and nodded at her.

"Good day, then!" he said, and went riding off, like a bat out of hell. Sara stared, dumbfounded. Her heart ached in disappointment. That hadn't worked out even remotely close to what she had dreamed. She collapsed sadly into a mess upon the forest floor. She closed her eyes and thought of the fantasy again....

She would be out in the romantic moonlit calm, just as she was now, and the Horseman would come from the distance, and stop just at her side, like he did. Only he would not say a word, but slither off his horse, and look at her with his frigid, gorgeous eyes, which would be brimmed with lust. He would then lovingly touch her face, and kiss her tenderly. They would end up making love, right there, in the shadows of the night. And then he would bring her back to the tree of the dead with him, where they would live happily ever after.

Sara felt her body become flooded with unhappiness, and sobs rocked her soul. She wailed in the darkness, causing the ears of every creature nearby to be weighed back. She rose to her bare feet again. The moon had returned to hiding behind the clouds, and in the vast terrain of sky, a soft rumbling of thunder tore through it. It was going to be a long night.


Hollow Laughs
Sleepy Hollow