aqua de vitaHer fingers are stained with wax.More Like This
In the stillness, it is not so awkward to be fumbling like she is with the corkscrew. In the stillness, it is not so surreal for her to be trying to uncork a bottle of –oh, the irony- rum.
The clock ticks, and he won’t be back. Hopefully.
The bottle comes to her lips, and alcohol burns down her throat. Soon, the room is spinning and it smells like wet wood and lamp oil… funny, isn’t it? There is no lamp there, only an old, thick vigil candle that should stop dying soon. She has still time, though, it will hold some more minutes, and it’d be enough. To burn the invitation. To fake ignorance, or better, to run away. But she can’t. Where to?
She’ll maybe then close her eyes, instead, and wish the one who would come in soon, away.
The door opens with a creak, though, and the breeze puts the candle out.
“There you be, my dear. And perfect. Stand up now,” he says, through yellow teeth and voice like