I've never noticed how nice her Monroe curls were until I looked around the room, it made the
lamps bright, and the walls elegant; beneath the moons gaze, through the torn faded velvet drapes,
giving us enough concealment. Her rapid movements could match the palpitations of her heart, though,
the expression shown once she turned around didn't reflect as well.
She walked backwards until she felt the bed, while pressing down the side of her stomach she softly
laid atop of the bed and wrapped herself beneath the sheets, her skin blending into the bleached
cotton. Her body on its side and her legs crescent, she removes her hand and looks. I guess she
couldn't tell if the red spots on her polka dot shirt were by design, or hers. I saw her eyes start
to dry out while she saw the blood rolling down each finger.
I stumbled my way to the side of the bed, just as she would've. I try to sympathize and so I lean
close to her face and gently turn it, so I could look into her faded stare. Only th