Isabella
Her weeping eyes sink to the polished floor.
Pale shoulders float upon a sea of velvet
Dark as the mist of night
Shrouding her thin, palsied form.
Silently, I cross the black marble.
Her straight black hair forms a veil
Of poisoned wisps over her sullen face.
I smile, even now, knowing her pain.
“Where have you been?” She asks.
“None of your business, ” I tell her gently.
“I’ve been waiting half the night,” she sighs.
I reach out, take her chin in my hand.
“You’ve been very bad, Isabella.”
I gather her into my arms, embrace her.
Her legs buckle, she shivers
In the late August heat.
“I didn’t know he was so weak,
Didn’t know the knife would cut
So deep. He was old, tired, willing.”
“It’s alright, my lovely, alright now.”
I stare deeply into her violet eyes,
Drink my fill of blood-red lips.
Isabella pulls away, falling from my arms,
Sobbing on the cold, hard stone.
“It’s time to go now,” I say.
I grab her thin wrist and drag her
To her feet. She moans complaint.
“I do not want to go!” She screams.
I lead her to the carriage. Tears fall
Silently on the brick walkway.
“It will be better there,” I say.
She collapses in the carriage seat.
“But I do not want to leave you.”
I hear her moan. The driver waits.
“The sanitarium,” I tell him.
And she is gone, in a clatter of hooves.
