Fire surrounds Callisto.
4 May 2006
X/Callisto. Kinda. Erm, let's assume that Xena was at Cirra that day.
Callisto rocked herself on her heels absentmindedly, stroking the jagged scar on her face every so often. Her blank eyes didn't see the dim stone walls of her prison; they saw her.
Gods, she was beautiful. That first day, first meeting, she had been too terrified, but she would never forget that sight. Her horse didn't rear theatrically. She didn't pose against the bright blue sky like an avenging goddess. Her sword couldn't shine through the blood and strips of flesh clinging to it.
She was beautiful dressed in blood.
Callisto closed her eyes, remembering the sensuous path a drizzle of blood traced down her temple, her cheek. Callisto wanted to see her again.
She would cut herself for Xena, paint her blood across Xena's beautiful smooth skin.
She would cut Xena to see the drops of red bleed out like tears and trace the contours of that body.
She would lap it up, drinking the metallic taste of the blood and the warm taste of Xena's body.
Gods, she was beautiful in blood.