|
|
Post by Lopez on Jul 10, 2009 7:50:43 GMT -7
Rain pattered on the cold, glass windows of the buildings. The sky was a solemn grey, and no one could tell if the sun was still out, despite the obvious glow to the clouds. Outside, a bird spun its afternoon serenade, which was nothing more than a quaint trill of high notes. People passed by each other, never exchanging a glance of politeness or even a decent conversation for reasons left unspoken.
Down the lane, a young woman dressed in flowing, white satin came across the cobblestone street, clutching her white, lacy umbrella with fleeting grace. Her hair was in a bundle of expertly-pinned braids, held together with an ivory clip and topped off with white roses spun around the golden locks. She seemed to glide with the grace of a ghost, barely making any noise on the stone path.
What was most curious about her was not the clothing she wore, nor what kind of character silhouette she cast at a first glance, but it was her face. She had hidden it. But why hide such a pretty face? That was a question only she could answer. Nonetheless, curiosity would get the better of oneself and decide what the reasons may be to conceal her identity. Was it for security, self-consciousness, or a tantalizing moment of hidden beauty?
* * *
She looks up, and her eyes light up the dullness of the obscure background around her. It is as if someone has lit a bright, turquoise flame amongst the colorless scene of an old attic. La mere hides within her eyes, the waves of her irises dancing with a mixture of terrible fear and thrill. Alas, she does not look up for long. She once again conceals those beautiful treasures she uses to see. As she does so, she turns on her heels, and flies down the street, growing smaller and smaller until she vanishes from view at the very beginning of that dark horizon.
A scream shatters the silence of the evening streets.
Oh, Bianca Neigeux, the apple is poisoned...
|
|
