Blanched

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Blanched

Postby rubytears » Sat Jul 02, 2005 12:15 am

this is an original fiction - not based on any fandom. Hope you enjoy and please leave me a comment - good and bad welcomed. thanks.
~Ruby tears x



Blanched




Part One


She felt the men’s appreciative eyes on her and the cold stares from the women who hung, momentarily forgotten on their arms. She didn’t adjust her clothing, or touch her hair self consciously, she knew she was perfect.

“Well almost.” She thought bitterly but she drowned the thought like an unwanted kitten.

Theatre goers were such a pretentious lot, she took a leisurely sip of her drink, feeling it roll coolly down inside her. The air was hot with the peculiarly imitate and suffocating heat given off by too many bodies in an unventilated room. Soon her drink would be contaminated by it, the crisp particular taste of her chardonnay turned to lukewarm grape sweat. She checked the impulse to gulp it down while it was still fresh.

The women around her wilted slightly, clothes hanging uncomfortably as the heat made perfectly tailored clothes betray their owner. She seemed to exist in her own climate, a faint pink tinge in her cheeks served only to enhance her beauty.

“This play has excellent reviews.” She heard a deep voice address her.

She inclined her head towards him and calmly agreed, under her hypnotic gaze the man faltered. Her naturally white lashes as elusive as a spider web created a startling impact when dipped in mascara. Ice crystals seemed to form in her deep blue eyes as he stammered out a second sentence.

He thought she was beautiful, they all did. ‘Beautiful’ the word had resonated in her ears so many times that it had lost much of its meaning, it now meant they didn’t look beyond her exterior. As she made a reply to him in a collected manner she tried to ignore the perfect pearls of sweat on his forehead, she imagined what it would be like to be ugly; or ordinary even. For a second she wished she was, that people would flock to her for her personality instead of looking no deeper than her bone structure. She dismissed the thought; beauty was a powerful tool, it could get her almost anything.

She looked over the man’s shoulder at a woman who was sat at the other end of the bar. She had long, rippling, dark hair which moved forwards over her shoulders like it was floating on water. Idly she wondered why men liked women to have long hair – a throw back to the helpless female of old, or in order to tie them down? Long hair could be wound through aggressive fingers so much more easily than blunt, independent hair.

Her own hair fanned down her back, a mixture of milk and water, each delicate white strand a gift from Nordic ancestors, her sister had told her over and over where they were from, touching her own pallid hair with pride. It was a shame the rest of her didn’t do their ancestry justice; nothing in her face seemed to fit together properly, Welsh features warred ironically with Nordic. She shook her sister from her thoughts, she made her uneasy with some sense that she had done her wrong.

She was still in conversation with the odious man, her mind too preoccupied to brush him off coldly. She scanned the crowd her eyes coming to rest on a man, he had soft curls that grazed his neck, he would be hers, she knew it. The man she was speaking to also knew it, he felt the balloon of pride that had expanded during his conversation with the beautiful woman burst. Only the prey itself was unaware that soon she would have her cold fingers tangled in his lamb-like curls, pulling his head back so his vulnerable throat was exposed and then she would slaughter him. His soft brown eyes connected with hers, she reacted by masking her huntress eyes with those of the hunted. She knew how it would happen. He would ask if he could buy her an interval drink, she would reply coyly that she had already bought it but he could buy her and after-play drink if he liked. His plush, unlined lips would stretch into a smile as she drew her weapons around her.

Flashes of the night danced through her mind as she looked at the man inert beside her, soft cherubim curls resting on her glacial pillow. She moved softly around the room flowing like pale, translucent moonlight. Their exquisite rapturous duet still singing in her ears.

Feverishly they had ripped at each others clothes. He has started to pull at a soft strappy top that lay next to her skin, as he wanted to. She had grasped his wrists, her grip cool and hard like her bones were made of steel. “Leave that on.” She had whispered, “Just that”. He had smiled, thinking her sweet and missing the arsenic glitter in her eyes.

Languidly she moved into the kitchen, she picked up the phone and dialled calmly.

“Hello darling, how are you?” Her voice was like everything about her – beautiful, cold and blanched of emotion.

“Just as messed up as always.” Said a bitter voice with the same rhythmic, see-saw inflection of tone as her, the gift of a mixed heritage. “Who’s the man warming your bed?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh please Seren you only phone when you’re feeling guilty that you have something I don’t.”

“I never feel guilty…Can’t a sister phone her sister? How are you really?” She twisted the phone cord around her finger instantly leaving red imprints.

“Fat as usual.”

Seren was silent, she never knew what to say at moments like this. Her sister’s cruel laugh echoed down the line.

“I’m out of hospital.”

“What? But you’re not better!” She closed her eyes, now she would have to go and see her.

“Don’t you understand? I’ll never be better. Don’t worry about visiting, I don’t particularly want you fidgeting in my apartment anyway.”

“I don’t fidget.”

“Oh yes I forgot – your famed poise.”

“Besides we both know you’re not in your apartment.” There was a malicious edge to her voice, “How are Mum and dad?”

The line went dead and she smiled, cradling the phone in her hands a moment before putting it back.


*
rubytears
New Shannen Fan
 
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