In a hall of mirrors, in a scene of black and white hums tentatively a girl. Her short locks of golden gray and skin of porcelain white glimmer in contrast to the stark blackness of her dress. Thin straps over delicate shoulders, with a silken black ribbon tied in a bow under her bust to keep slender a already small waist. Delicate in stature she twirls in her reflection as dark eyes capture the movement of the curling skirt about her knees. Barefoot and playful she twists, her legs entwining to land her gracefully upon the white marble floor as she submits to a parade of silent giggles.
But, as her small hands, with fingers made long with the artist’s intent float over her racing heart and heaving breasts she feels a slight pain come over her. Flittering her hands over her ribs the girl becomes distressed as her smile dissipates and her brows furrow above heavily lashed eyes, fluttering briefly as the pain returns. The pain that envelopes her constricts , her breathing labors and her chest tightens. Gasping for air, heaving and panting she braces herself upon the floor, palms spread wide.
Looking up she sees her reflection again as she twists under sufferings felt not through the body. Tears splash silver upon the floor, as the light catches the fall. It’s as if she cries glass, so fragile as she convulses. But, her panic only increases, her silent sobs submitting into a stampede of hiccups.
Lifting again one hand to her chest she tries to calm, only to pull her hand away from the warmth that pools into her palm and down her thin wrists.
Red.
Deep scarlet expands from a wound still unseen, dampening the rich fabric of her ebony dress. Even when the threads hold but a shadowy black, it begins to turn red and faded. The blood binds itself to the dress. Ripping at the strap at her shoulder she begins to peel down the garment, searching for the injury. None is to be seen through the rivers of gore that travel down the valleys of her body. The girl fervently tares the material revealing a half naked bosom.
Delicately she attempts to wipe the blood off her bosom, expecting to find a cavern in her flesh. But, as the blood flow stops and she catches her breath she realizes that though she has stopped the flow a stain of red still remains on her unmarred flesh.
The stain of love- for all to see. The first of many that will grow to consume a betrayed heart.
Love is just a stain...
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Submission Name: The Stain of love
