Implications (Fill in the Blank)
Even the walls are sleek, lush, papered with sound-deadening silk that devours her breath. It's too warm, too close, there's nowhere to catch on anything, nothing to snag, no way to hold herself up. There is not a mark anywhere on anything, singular gleaming surfaces and fabric like ink, clinging, grasping and infinite and hot.
"How," the word is ragged on the heels of a deep gulp for air, "how can you stand it?"
Her face is perfect, seamless and blank, shining with some color that would suggest roses and kittens on anyone else--and might still, on her face, for anyone who does not know. Her lips are smeared carmine from a neat row of pinking-shear gashes, that slight loss of control, but never once on her part. Red looks good on her, anyway. It coils down to her chin as she makes words; her smile wavers but never ends.
"It does have its perks."
"How," the word is ragged on the heels of a deep gulp for air, "how can you stand it?"
Her face is perfect, seamless and blank, shining with some color that would suggest roses and kittens on anyone else--and might still, on her face, for anyone who does not know. Her lips are smeared carmine from a neat row of pinking-shear gashes, that slight loss of control, but never once on her part. Red looks good on her, anyway. It coils down to her chin as she makes words; her smile wavers but never ends.
"It does have its perks."