Picture Book

SHE'S staring at me again. Her eyes, alien and blue-gray. I can't sleep, and I know my dreams will be riddled with her face, her form. She's not unattractive, not by any means. But those eyes! Her face is perfect, flawless but for a small red spot at the corner of her mouth. She picks at it, unthinking, as she watches me. Her lips must taste like pomegranates, the deep pink looks natural.

She moves her hand to cover my eyes. She sighs. The sound razors though me. I am aware of her slightest shift, of the darting of her strange, bright eyes. I can feel the thudding of her heart through the stone floor of my chamber.

Her lips move, and I know she's thinking aloud, fantasizing about me. I wish I could communicate my awareness, but as the image that is me shifts, she closes the book.

Later, I don't know how long it's been, I awaken. I see the world and I know I see through eyes wild and deep. She is there, and I sink into her arms as she sinks into mine. The embrace is fleeting and electric. Her eyes are brown and black now, with flecks of Faery gold.

The forest floor around us is covered in paper leaves, crinkling even before foot is placed. We walk hand in hand, and the scene shifts. It is an alleyway, dark and stinking. I bend to kiss her, knowing that I may be rebuked, but determined to steal for myself this bit of pleasure. She tastes like fine wine, heady and sweet.

She smiles at me. Her teeth, gleaming pearls, are pointed and delicate. The mark of the predator, I think. A dart of pink tongue slips over her lips, and I am dying. The beauty and power are too great and I awake.

I sit upright, blinking in my bed. The book lies open at my side, and I smile a bittersweet smile, look longingly upon the picture, and shut the book.