Desperation color coordinated his tie with Love’s baby blue dress
and hand crafted her mask.
Desperation was good with his hands.
He was malleable, manipulable, and able to craft fine masks.
The skill had seemed pointless until that night.
Love’s chocolate brown eyes almost glowed beneath the black and grey of the mask.
Her nails were white with French tips,
her hair flowed in auburn waves,
her lips shown crimson red with Desperation’s own blood.
Love was mysterious and fickle
and happened to be the only woman with a face
that could properly support Desperation’s fine masks.
She had never wanted them until that night.
As the two stood beneath the crystal chandelier
everyone who danced in silence moved with grace to open the floor.
They watched with fascination as Love and Desperation began to dance the most elegant waltz.
As the music swelled to a crescendo,
Love pulled a bobby pin out of her hair
and plunged it into Desperation’s throat.
He fell to the ground, choking and bleeding.
Love knelt beside him and placed her fingers on his wound.
She rubbed his blood into the dimples of her cheek
and held onto his hand in earnest.
Desperation’s consciousness was fading,
but Love was not done dancing.
Not one to disappoint,
Desperation reached violently into his arm
and pulled out his veins.
Love pulled him up like a marionette
and tossed his veins over the crystal chandelier.
She pulled and Desperation danced.
The music faded
to the lonely sound of a single harpsichord.
Desperation smiled through his pain
and focused on Love's eyes.
She wrapped her arms around his waist
and embraced him tenderly, resting her heavy head
upon his weakened shoulder.
Desperation nuzzled into her hair,
breathed in her scent.
When he finally stopped breathing
and hung limp from the chandelier,
the crowd could almost swear they saw Love shed a tear
falling to her knees.
Another masked man came and placed his hand on Love's shoulder.
He thought he heard her whisper:
"What have I done?"
