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Song of the Enthralled

Written by Sheepwave and Sylvia Sparks

CW: vampirism, bdsm, blood stuff

The party was pleasant enough. Customary exchanges of greetings, friendly facades from faces whose hearts were cold and unwelcoming. Petty grudges of old rivals hidden in the savagery of handshakes, etiquette, and polite questions whose answers were just barely not shameful enough to cause a fight. You had no patience for the jostling. You came to these gatherings for the music.

The sound of strings was soothing like nothing else was. No squabbling voices, no doubts or worries, simply immersing yourself in the washing sensation of a work of art. Time could stretch as harmonies and chords resonated in your mind. Losing yourself to a calming swaying dance was the most blissful thing you knew. Unfortunately, tonight's performance was of a newer wave you were not accustomed to. Moody, difficult to dance to.

You were finally starting to appreciate the subtler aspects of the composition when you saw her. The pull of her eyes alone was like no woman you had ever been graced by before. She twirled her fingers as she listened to the music like she was conducting it. The call of your heart pulled you forward before you realized you left the dance floor.

You were normally a shy sort, but found yourself in conversation quickly. She had such strong opinions on the finer points of the balance of the piece, but with none of the elitism of those who usually commented on the music. Those fools used it as another way to establish their position, she hungered for conversation. Her voice was more harmonious than the song, reduced to mere background when she spoke.

Before you knew it, her hands were on yours. It was not long before you, lost in her voice, found yourself being pulled away from the party. Up the stairs, down the hall, uncertain why she held such sway over your will, but knowing it felt right. Her giggles and smile made you sure of it.


The doorway to the party you’d already forgotten slammed shut behind you as you stepped off the ground, and into her Abyss. She pushed you down on the linens of the bed with an intensity no lover had ever matched.

Her lips were everywhere, her breath resonant, fingers exploring under your dress, buttons undone, touch made frantic. Her nails blazed a deep trail across your skin, writing her poetry across the canvas you gave her so freely, so easily. Her kisses were quick, percussive, overwhelming.

Memories of the night faded in the invitation of her immaculately composed dream. Her hands conducted your body, circles of motion at the perfect tempo. Each second closer to crescendo made your voice move closer to your highest octave. Finally, with a discordant wail, you reached your finale-

And then her teeth met your throat.

Your instincts called you to scream, before discarding the thought to a pyre lit only to illuminate the stage of her symphony. Desperation flickering behind your eyes as she traced your face in her fingertips, before fading, submitting to the melody of her willpower. Burning drips of life gave themselves freely to stained crimson lips, setting itself an example for your mind.

Forgotten purpose flowed out with the breath of your Mistress on your freshly opened wound. Names, titles, now no more than a tag on the collar of a pet. There was no use in knowing more than she craved you for. You never cared for your nobility, all you ever wanted was a song to dance to, and hers was exquisite.

The sound of the party below faded beneath the sweet ring of her laughter in your ears. Every whisper, every shaking drop, calling itself to the finale of your waking life. Spilling the remnants of your old body like rivers cut into deserts upon the manor floor.

The marks she left spread across your slowly perfecting form, etching your bond together in eternally thrumming ties. Bone and flesh shifted, tuned into the shape of one bound in love. In her glorious mercy, the venom she sank into your body and mind would not make you a creature of power like her, but a beloved enthralled servant. Small, sensitive horns, a short playful tail.

Echoes of your life, your worst fears, the boredom of the squabbles of those who heard notes but not songs, faded beneath the resonating beat of love. Every thought, tuned to the perfect will of her touch. Every quiver orchestrated by the pierce of fangs across artfully marked skin, irrefutable reminders of the place you served.

Her fangs left your neck with gentle care, tongue and breath soothing the soul of your Mistress’s newest pet, coaxing you to sweetened stillness. You looked up at the woman you would love for the rest of eternity, heart singing the tune of the dance you spun together into the sands of ages you would explore together forever.


The music of the ballroom was somehow both cheery and haunting. Centuries of practice, it seemed, gave way to more experimental styles, a melody fit to dance like you were floating. You had been bound to her for months now, but still had not quite gotten the hang of the style of dance this high society of vampires practiced. No matter, the Mistress preferred to lead.

Her hand pushed hair back around your horns, drifting bliss in every movement. Step by step, breath by breath, you let yourself fall to the pull of your Mistress's heart. Her arm pulled your waist to hers. Quietly, she dipped you together, pulling your arm above your head. With a whisper, and a laugh, she dismissed your gasp of surprise, sinking teeth into your exposed neck.

Your heart thumped to a hastened calm, tuning itself to the breath of your Mistress upon your wound. The gentle caress of her tongue woke the numbing nerves, preventing you from falling limp before she was done indulging herself.

It felt like time stretched. Only the sound of the singing violins resonating through the hall kept you anchored, knowing it was you that was frozen, not the world. You loved when she drank from you, you loved the way the other vampires would look on hungrily, with envy of your Mistress. You always noticed how some of them would eye you as they clapped between songs.

Your senses began to blur as the night continued. Your beautiful white dress was stained scarlet by your Mistress drinking from the neck of her arm candy. She introduced you as her favored pet to a visiting baron of some faraway land. It was one of so many terms she used to describe her love for you.

When the crescendo of the final song of the night echoed against pillars and pale bodies, you could no longer stand on your own, clinging meekly to her grace, letting your limp and drained body be supported by hers.

You could think of no more suitable place, no grander purpose, to give yourself time and time again to the hunger of such a wonderful Mistress. To serve, in freedom, and in grace, your countess, until time itself plays its final chord.

Forever hers, forever free, forever dancing in the joy of service and love, to her perfect, gleaming fangs.

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