Feral

I am afraid of the way that I scream in middle of my party, my home, in the middle of the street, and no one looks. No one notices. They only notice when I do not smile at them and turn in fear and contempt. I am afraid of the way I am used to it and how I have stopped wishing and expecting anything different. I am no longer desperate to be heard. I feel as if any chance I had has passed me by without me knowing until it was far too late. My valor was no match for their cruelty disguised behind honey sweet smiles and artificially coated tongues. And I know as my tears mix with the blood flowing from my wrists that the only real concern would be how I stained my gold and ivory gown in my last melodramatic act for attention. The tears they will shed behind their fine china teacups and lace fans will be for my family, mostly my mother who I have wronged so selfishly. What an ungrateful brat I was. The men will shake their heads and offer my father whiskey and smokes, while planning their next hunt. My sister will be the only one genuinely upset, because despite everything they say about me being an attention-seeking coward, they will talk about me and my sister did always hate being out of the spotlight and outdone.

And as I am here, dying, and these thoughts flit around in my mind, you suddenly appear before me. An angel clad in black and red. I see you smile slightly as you shake your head at me and I feel the urge to pout. In a voice of moonlight and burning wishes and desires you offer me a final deal and hold out your hands. One last chance and when I ask why, why me, you reply “I have never seen any one so tragic.” And with that, I smile. It is feral and wild and tragic, because he is right, I am tragic. I am an absolute mess. I have no reason to refuse, so I take his hand and let him pull me up. He brings my arms up to his lips and blows, feather soft, on my gaping open wrists. In a second the wounds are gone and all that is left is a mixture of dry and wet blood. My dress is stained crimson and I wonder how my sister will react when she sees it. It was always her favorite of my things she constantly longed for. I don’t blame her, it was beautiful, but now, now it is a masterpiece.

When I reach the door to the ballroom I catch my reflection in the window. I do not recognize myself. I look like how I feel the Queen of the Underworld is to look. Blacks and bone white with pomegranate reds. There is a crown of thorns and roses on my head. My lips are stretched in a feral and wicked smile. Oh! I gasp. I have never felt more beautiful. My madness is showing and I can finally breathe. And you! You look absolutely perfect, cloaked in shadows and winter moons and ancient fire in your eyes.

When we finally pushed the doors open, the room went silent and everyone turned to look at us. Their mouths dropped open in horror. They were frozen in terror and confusion. They did not understand completely, but they did understand that they would never drown me out again. They parted as we walked down the ivory stairs and made our way to the dance floor. As we began to dance to the music in our heads I felt everyone's eyes on us. For once I did not care. I was not worried about letting my mask slip, my smile fall, my bitterness and anger show. I let it all show on my face and when I made eye contact with passing faces I had the satisfaction of seeing them flinch. But soon they all blurred together as we began to spin faster and faster and faster, until our feet weren’t even touching the floor anymore. And I was aware, that when I screamed this time it came out a laugh, wild and free, and every. one. heard. me.