devery fantain, district six | cb, fin.

She was born to die — heart bleeding out into her chest. There's scarlet running down the ivory of her bones. Once a man kissed her throat and said that she was born of pearls, and another ran his fingers across her eyelids and asked to see her how sapphires shined. Diamonds hidden behind lips stained with cherry, she flashes them at men made of coal and lures them in, body risen from the earth and tempered to be harder than steel.

She is not a woman of flowers;
softness does not suit her.

She and her sisters were born to a woman who died living a half existence — raised by the midnight lovers of a neon club that conquered their targets with the force of an army. To them, men were just moths flying into flames. She had always been fascinated with watching the weaker ones burn — seduced by twisting hips and whispered secrets — and her mothers always told her that she was dangerous. A dangerous girl. A temptress with a virgin smile, and they all expected so much more from her. 'Don't end up like us,' they urged, but she would never follow that path. Her damnation was of a different kind.

She smokes cigarettes and lets the ashes fall down into her chest, making a garden —
lean forward and smell the roses inside of her,

but fear the thorns.