134. Fairytales.

Long, lazy steps. Patters on the ground, silent and swift, like raindrops shattering on the pavement. Flickering eyes, eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, a sideways glance, a look that steals the show. Her fair hair tumbles over her head, as if water had blurred the definite stature of her face and her hair together, a beauty that needs perusal to discover the true meaning.

Her fingers were slender, fingernails like half crescent moons plastered onto the tips. Her seashell ears were hidden by the flourish of rich hair, the smell of unsullied spring in the middle of a vast foliage of colours. Her lips were a dash of affluent pink, a contrast to her pale skin, and even paler eyes.

She was a quintessence to true splendor and magnificents, her eyes sparkling like a jewel found in a dark mine. The fiery power of her dominant nature unsurprisingly prevails over her soft features. The angled bone structure from her pronounced cheekbones, and subtly hidden dimples when she beamed amusingly.

A laughter that ruptures her harsh temperament, the sound so pure and beautiful, bewitching and powerful like a spell casted on the heart, an intoxicating sweetness in the cheery echoing reverberation, impulses running deep, leaving everyone in the vincinity helpless. Her lips part, and the most lovely resonance, a sultry and rich timbre is revealed, like a mother peeling open a childs covers, and discovering the most precious thing in the world in a fraction of a hearbeat.

The clock chimes and she turns away, gathering her gown in her nimble fingers. Fear suddenly seeps into her eyes, the damp dark colour swarming, her mouth drawn into a thin line. A last glimpse at this inhuman beauty, and she runs away, her feet buried under the layers of lace and making her look as if she was floating.

The double doors swing open, her lovely figure dashing out, a pale ghost with long fair hair, and a neverending grace scurrying away, suddenly scared of what she was running from. Dozens of eyes followed her as she raced past everyone she saw, and away from the main attraction of the evening.

His eyes search for her prescence, and as the last of the bells chime, he drops to his knees, face in his hands, sobbing in defeat.

Lost in the wilderness, her dress falls to the ground, exposing her torn, filthy clothing underneath. Her hair comes undone, the beautiful gold pins vanishing from sight. Exploding fireworks fill the air, lighting up the night sky like it were the sun. She stares up, and something glints from down below.

A glass slipper.

And she could hear.

"My poor love, my poor Cinderella."