TormentedDragon
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It is a simple room. The bed lies empty, sheets pushed to the foot. The candle is dead, no flame upon its slender torso. A toy bear, one button eye dangling by a thread, sits on a little chair by the window. The square of moonlight is slowly growing larger, casting more and more of the room in sharp relief.
The light denies color... everything is black or white, with no in between. Even the floor is blinding. A liquid has trailed across its otherwise pristine surface, lying defiantly black against the white. As the moonlight shifts, the source becomes clear. Black intermingles with white, spots and lines on a curved canvas. Eyes, two dots on two orbs, stare up through a tangle of hair. Black lips lie shut tight, a flat line, while more black frames the face... a tilted halo.
The room is dead. Only one thing breaks the stillness... a slow, rhythmic creak comes from the corner of the room, growing steadily louder in the quiet. The light creeps across the floor, finally revealing a small body, curled tight. It rocks back and forth, back and forth hands hidden behind folded knees. Matted hair covers the face, black on white gown. A small voice sings, softly, halting. "Mary, Mary, none too wary--how was she to know? The silver tongues of wolves will snare thee, and their hunger lay thee low."
There is a knife beside her, its shining blade obscured by black. The rhyme comes to an end, and all is silent.
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