"What a lovely creature she is," drifted through the cold corridors, filled with drafts that devour any life out of a breath dared expressed. Landing lightly within her ear, she exhales, smoky clouds created in the chill between stonewalls. Harshly gathering her skirts, bare feet slap against still stone, grey and unyielding. The brisk early spring air still sends shudders beneath pale exposed skin, perfect but for a moth-shaped birthmark at the base of her neck, the resting place for many stolen kisses. Stiff mahogany curls wound tight bounce against an ample bosom, barely concealed but for few ruffles and lace. Slender hands tipped with delicate nails seize fabric out of harm's way, for long, smooth legs hurriedly crossing the broad green lawn of the grounds. They angle towards the woods that hold only tabooed words and lost dreams.
No one knew the insinuating glances of men as she did, unable to walk through the streets of town without baring looks, raping through minds, stripping her down step by step, reaching out with grasping tendrils of imagination, dangerously tainted by lust and longing.
She arrives in the forest, footsteps falling into the dusky shadows of the trees. Behind her whispered words lay waiting in the dark. She flees from stares of objectification, leaving behind the unfeeling hold of the world. In a moment, rational thought is banished from conscious actions. Estranged from beauty, she places adornments of thorns to tear at high cheekbones. Bright eyes turn livid, dead and as hard as jewels. Soft red lips that shape each word before it mount in echoing tones of clarity crack, dry and brittle. Rasping cries of pain fly through an empty throat, crying out in her own misfortune. Bloodied feet stagger back, air thick with sorrow. She fights through dense space, sheer will the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the thick grass below her, blood soaking through brilliant life.
Upon the barren step she falls, frosty with apprehension. Fiery hands embrace her face with gentleness reserved for dewdrops on roses. Their eyes meet, raging hope in flinted grey, while lying adoration pierces through layers of viscous denial, flash in green.
"What a lovely creature you are."