Project Main Details
The finished reading is estimated to be around 11 hours.
2012-02-03 01:54:07 GMT 2012-02-05 10:45:35 (GMT -06:00) Central Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about ) Closed - Note: This project was manually closed by the voice seeker before it reached its original deadline. 0 0 0 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far. Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 50 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Seeker has requested the audition script be read in its entirety. Audition Script: to be read in its entirety, please.
When she murdered me, her sharp canine teeth savaged my throat. I can still remember the pain: it was the pain of birth. I saw a vision of shadows in darkness, as of men of some authority gathered around, shadow against shadow. I felt my blood rise up to the bite, as if meeting Pythia's lips and tongue. The smell of her-at that instant-was the musky perfume of the grave itself. Her beauty changed from the maiden to that of the corpse, the drying leather of skin pulled taut against her skull. I saw her as she was. I saw her for her flesh and not for her spirit. Her eyes opened, milky white and diseased. Her jaw, wolflike, as she tore into me. Her weight, heavy on my chest. I froze, paralyzed, unable to fight, then the awful sucking sounds as she drank me.
I remember the beat of my pulse, as if it were a heavy, slow knocking at a wooden door nearby.
I saw her true beauty, as the life poured from my veins into her mouth. Her eyes, like burning sapphires. Her hair, think, dark as night, flowing from her alabaster face, then the flush of pink in her cheeks as my blood nourished her.
She became my mother, and my lover, and my savior, and my murderer, and my demon.
It was not intense pleasure I felt then, in the Sacred Kiss that burned on my lips. The pleasure came after, when I experienced my first resurrection. The pleasure of opening myself up to the night, to creation itself, to the flesh in full.
The pleasure arises when the body comes fully alive again.
When the thirst for blood begins.
The curse of the thirst is not the thirst itself, but of the memories it stirs. Each drop of blood brings forth, once more, the memory of my mortal life.
Red is for remembrance.
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