The House of Mien leaned against an arching structure that once served as a highway of sorts. Even though its exterior exclaimed definite neglect, the old red shingles and absolutely fanciful golden gate protecting a too-lush garden in the front yard drew attention from passerbys.
Clara likely assisted as she sat daintily by the koi pond. One long, lean leg was dipped just barely in the water, and she seemed to have a permanent soft smile gracing her fine, pale lips. Her whiteness, albeit it strikingly pure, would have been a turn-off for many, but her military frockcoat, a truly antique and unique thing from the Civil War nearly a hundred years ago, nearly glowed it was so blood red. She wore no trousers or skirts, only the frockcoat, which ended sharply at her midthigh.
Her mistress, the mother of the House of Mien, had marked next to her eyes with bright crimson, pulling upwards like little sparrow wings soaked in blood. Her cheeks also were dusted in a vibrant blush though her lips remained almost devoid of color.
Only brave men approached the gate, and only the most courageous of these opened the door to approach Clara.
The very, very few who made it past Clara had a world of amazement ahead of them.
However, it was quite rare for a man to pass Clara, even though it happened on a daily basis. Anyone in New Day could identify her from her red frockcoat and creamy thighs and long legs and dainty, dangerous makeup. She never left the garden. Some swore they would see her in one day there at sunrise, noon, sunset, midnight - though few admitted they passed the golden gate that often without going in.
When one got to the point in the garden that he was even with Clara, it was only natural, instinct even, to look at her. His perspective had changed with the angle of his new position.
It was generally then that men stopped in their tracks. Some ran back to the gates, some backed away slowly. It was even possible for a man to stand there endlessly for hours, frozen in surprise. Clara would not move to move him, and the sight of a person in the yard often caused more business for the House of Mien, anyway.
For you see, even though gossip and grapevine discussions were rampant in New Day, one of the darkest but most open secrets lay on the other side of Clara's body, the portion not clearly seen from the golden gate.
No man could resist the desire to touch those white, clean, long legs or stare at the red feathers darting up to her hair across her fine features from her beautiful eyes. But once he turned slightly and saw the right side of her face... he was easily lost.
Half her cheek had dissolved entirely, exposing the prominent bone of her face and many of her teeth though white strings of skin threaded across from under her eyes down to her chin. It was a horror to see and even worse to contemplate what it meant. Could such a stunning beauty possibly not be... among the living... anymore?
The confirmation was her arm, if the man stayed long enough to see what was there, which was actually nothing at all for most of the limb, just simply white exposed bone. Her hand was fully intact, gorgeously manicured, but forearm up to her bicep was nothing but the barest parts of a person not meant to be seen on a moving creature. A man could see more the ground through the splinters and natural intertwining holes of the bone than he very certainly wanted to. His eyes might be drawn to the faint hints of her bosom or the long lines of her legs, but nothing could truly distract from the exposed bones in her arm and face that declared quite firmly she was of the unliving. The sexy, alluring, frightening, mortifying unliving.
Clara was a strong, harsh, lovely hint of things to come. Those that were still interested and still brave kept on walking up to the second door - a simple, dully red thing - and entered a world of bewildering options and unrestrained sensual variety.
No comments:
Post a Comment