((this takes place right after the Whispers of Verse thread: http://z3.invisionfree.com/For_King_And_Co...?showtopic=1242
The gardens were a labyrinth of serpentine twists and turns. Anne followed it with the simple minded purpose of a rough river; cutting her way through smaller paths in the hope of being sprung from the mouth of the stream into a wider chasm. She sought that opening with the primal ruthlessness of an elemental entity. Her fingers were curled like talons, ripping several stalks of ivy from the trellis walls as she viciously turned a corner, startling two love birds in the process.
The beating and flutter of wings kindled the desperation within her own breast. Escape. Everything a cage around her. The court. The garden, even her own skin. If she could but penetrate even one layer…sanity might be regained. For Anne feared now this was no spring fever. The anxiety rampant to the marrow of her bones was the christening of her ancestors…a birthright of instability which now worked her into a passion of such proportions that her mind raced for the clarity of pain. Some shock to the senses that would save her.
She breached the inner sanctum of the hedge maze, short of breath. The hazy ease of the moonlight’s cool demeanor set a dazzling scene before her, with a reserved beauty which held her heart in thrall and still with promise. There in the very center, the core of all entrances and exits, stood three proud rose bushes, sheered to the exact height of a man. The light contradicted its tender glow with harsh coldness, making the small glistening dew drops upon the tight buds seem like hard, ungiving silver steel. The breeze flittered through the leaves, stirring like a whisper; dangerously inviting…a lover’s corrosive caress. Anne’s lips parted in a bare, silent sound and she drew in; her resistance worn thin and as easily rent as silk.
A moment’s hesitation was all that wove before her, but in the safety of solitude she knew she could allow herself this brazen act. As if cued by the chime of some invisible clock tower her arms went full about the frame of the tallest of the three bushes. Immediately she was stung and scratched all about her, and unbidden a soft cry sprang out. She quickly silenced herself by biting at the pink plumpness of a newly birthed rose, moaning deliriously as the sweet yet earthly juice of it filled her mouth; her hands grabbing fistfuls of her imaginary figure and clenching tightly, imbedding thorns into the supple flesh of her palms.
She pressed her whole length in, skirts plucked at by hungry stalked fingers of green. Her hair snagged and mussed by the same alien hands, tugging strands of auburn hair free from her braid like an impatient suitor. Breasts scraped raw in parts by the little daggers of the foliage. The blood that was drawn, springing to the surface from tiny, multiple wounds, split her effectively like a seam. At long last…the rapture of the unrefused.
Another thorn tore at her cheek as she tried to bury her face deeper into the perfumed and fragrant heady scent of this being she had conjured up for her salvation, making an explosive gasp punctuate the night like the fire of a musket…petals falling from her teeth and tongue as she tipped her head back, breathlessly.“Henry!”