Inside Shadows
© Black Tangled Heart
I used to watch her on her throne, her seat of
majesty, her place of power. Her ivory throat would pulse as a haunting song
poured from her dark lips. Men would surround her, eager to touch her delicate
skin and taste the wine in her kiss. She would shine, even though what was
inside her was dark and bruised.
She never let her agony flicker in her eyes, even when the sweet and fiery
cherub Satine stepped inside the
Her head was always held high, but her bony fingers would sometimes outstretch,
as though she were trying to pull the Sparkling Diamond from her steady ascend
to fame and throw her back on the soiled Parisian streets.
In the beginning, she came to me with her eyes full of wonder. Those irises are
dead now. She used to be so full of vivacity and charm, but the emotional
brutality of prostitution stripped away her sparkle and replaced it with
blemished tears that still stain her cheeks; transparent to customers, but
sinister and apparent as dried blood to me.
And then the narcoleptic stranger held her in his arms as they danced, giving
her another chance to have the limelight illuminate her skin and hair. Even
inside a hurricane of pain, she had a glimmering moment as violins wailed and
bodies spun in a fervent tango.
The Argentinean's eyes never left her face…I think he saw the crimson stains on
her cheeks, the tears of resentment, the tears of
agony.
She doesn't cry anymore, she can't wash away the bitterness with saline drops
of misery. She knows that when the flood of hurt recedes, shackles still bind
her body and what is left of her soul to the Moulin Rouge.
And tonight is our premiere, the stage our place of providence. Maybe a blush
will paint her cheek, rather than desolation. Perhaps she will find new
strength and inspire hope for us, the creatures of the Underworld, prisoners of the
She turns to me before stepping onstage. The crowd roars with anticipation. Her
dark lips form a half-smile.
I touch her shoulder, feeling the frigidity of her skin, but knowing that the
stage will provide her with the warmth she needs.
"Good luck, Nini."
"Thank you, Harold."