She can kill with a smile
She can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child
But she’s always a woman to me

She is frequently kind
And she’s suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases
She’s nobody’s fool
But she can’t be convicted
She’s earned her degree
And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you
But she’s always a woman to me

Zusammen Wieder

“Your chin needs to be higher.” The man crouched down behind his tripod, the tips of his fingers brushing against the black release knob of the camera. A flash blinked against the dim background before the shutter clicked, rewound, then silenced. “Look this way, hun.”

Flash.

He gently touched the focusing ring, brought his head out from behind the camera, squinted an eye, then ducked back.

“Angelina, your chin…”

Flash.

The film was advanced with a dull hum as she brought up her chin. With a graceful sweep of her arm, her torso straightened elegantly, curving against the black cloth background that stretched above her. Angling her jaw back, she mentally reached out towards the photographer with a gesture of insatiable lust.

“Perfect.” She smiled modestly at his awe. “That’s a cover right there. Utter perfection, Angelina.”

Well, of course…

“We’re done for today.” The camera was screwed off its base and placed into a blue duffle bag beside the stage. “You were fabulous.”

“Oh no.” Angelina giggled slightly and shook her head, a heavily styled mane of weaved curls tickled her thin shoulders. She was offered a hand down and took it gracefully. Her fingers barely touched his, her steps were unnaturally light and nimble as she moved off the stage. A breezy, superficial smirk was her payment for his required kindness.

“I heard you were replaced as the spokesperson for Nicole Farhi.” The photographer asked. With his gold-ringed hand, he touched the tip of his bald head, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “No loyalty in this business anymore.”

“I hope whoever got the job does her best.” Angelina kept the smile on her face as threads of anger started to entwine themselves in her mind. The edges of her lips quivered but failed to faltered. “She’s probably a very beautiful girl. She deserves it.”

“She’s a young little thing.” Angelina’s eyes widened as he continued to talk. A thick inhale of breath kept her calm, kept the faux glimmer of compassion in her mercury-hued eyes from dimming. “Eighteen at most. Still a child.”

“I wish her well.” Angelina nodded and took a step back, signaling her departure. Her fingers linked into the fabric of her top, pulling it up against her chilled skin. She was awfully vulnerable. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment with a friend of mine. If you would kindly excuse me.”

“Take care, Angelina.” He tipped an invisible hat to her. “Everyone is right, you are more gorgeous in person.”

“Oh, please, I’m too old for such praise.” She waved her fingers at him, her other hand gently covering her mouth as she neared the corner of the set. Along with her porcelain smile, a slight wink of an eye ended the conversation and, within seconds, she was hurrying towards the dressing rooms, her eyes glued to the clock over the door.

The dressing room was small, crowded, and held the scent of decaf and cigarettes. Walls were lined with racks of clothes; the floor was littered with loquacious designers and their respected models. They all packed around the individual counters set up across the room, chatting, smoking, drinking the cans of free diet coke that had been set by the refreshments tables. Because it was Valentine’s Day, the table was decorated with Hershey kisses and sugar cookies.

Of course, those trays had not been touched.

Angelina paused at the entrance, her arms clutching her belongings to her chest. She checked the silver Di Modolo watch on her left wrist and frowned. An upsetting shiver worked its way up her spine as she frowned. She didn’t want to touch these people.

With both arms flattened against her torso, Angelina slowly took a step forward. Immediately, she was shoved from the side by a rather pompous, loud teenager wearing nothing but tan pasties and a pair of brown hot pants. Almost instantaneously, Angelina, being a good inch or two above those around her, reached a slender arm out and, with head bent and legs ready to move, forcefully smacked the girl upside her head. She ducked and, as the cry of pain filled the room, Angelina found herself hurrying past the spokesperson for Nautica and Karl Lagerfeld’s sidekick towards her cubicle.

“Good God, it’s a madhouse today!”

Angelina turned towards the recognizable voice, her lips arching as she caught Charlotte’s recognizable face. It was smudged with a line of dust and, quite strangely, a blue pen mark that stretched from her high cheek to the corner of her nose.

“Did you just hear that scream?” Angelina asked as she placed her coat on the black folding chair behind her. Her eyes widened in disbelieve as she reached for the bag of clothes tucked neatly under the desk “What happened?”

“Some whore bumped into Calvin Klein’s niece.” Charlotte held the bag open as Angelina pulled out a pair of faded jeans and pumps. “The push knocked her sideways and she got her weave caught on someone’s zipper. Pulled half the track out.”

“Oh God!” Marie covered her face as she pulled her jeans up her legs, jumping a few times to get them past her behind. “Such hatred on Valentine’s Day is uncalled for. I hope she’s alright.”

Charlotte simply shook her head at the mass and handed her client the remaining green halter top from the sack.

“So, what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?” Angelina’s eyes jerked up towards Charlotte’s pale face at the question. She paused, shirt half on, and forced a grin.

“Bradley is taking me to Daniella Restorante on 8^th.” The brunette cleared her throat and turned her back so Charlotte could knot the lace tires around her neck. “He said he has a surprise for me when we get back to the apartment, but he’s not telling me what it is.”

She giggled, and immediately hated herself.

“Aw!” Charlotte scrunched up her eyes and flashed a full set of teeth. Wrists cluttered with too many bracelets wiggled excitedly. “You two are the perfect couple. I’m so jealous, you lucky little thing!”

Angelina was unable to reply. She could only hold onto the smile plastered on her face.

“Is that restaurant important to you or something?” The outspoken manager asked as she gathered up the rest of Angelina’s makeup and hair supplies. She watched as Angelina paused, her hand fumbling to put on a pair of black Armani pumps. The model glanced off into space and slowly nodded.

“Did you meet Brad there?”

“I went there years ago on vacation--”

“Well, I hope you two have a great time!” Charlotte nudged her away from the make-up table, careful to steer her away from the multitudes of woman around a rack of Vera Wang tea dresses. “I’ll have Dennis send me your new portfolio and, while you’re spending Valentine’s with your fiancé, I’ll spend my Monday night sifting through a dozen or so pictures of you in a suede bikini….alon--”

“Oh, my cell phone.“ Angelina turned back to Charlotte, her eyes large with concern. A long, slender arm reached out towards her manager’s ringing pocket, pleading, demanding. “Hurry, It’s Brad…”

The moment the cold plastic touched her fingertips, Angelina flipped open the cover, brushing hair away from her ear, and spoke.

“Bradley? I’m sorry --”

“Where are you?”

His voice sounded like silk to her ears, soft yet strikingly strong and enduring. The low tone of his voice, so accentually unique, brought a supple curve to her angered lips. Angelina had stopped in the center of the room, oblivious to the noise, the heat, the discourteous shoving and the horrendous smell. She was in her own world, unfazed and dauntless.

“Gomen ne, demo--”

“English, love.”

Angelina suddenly pushed forward, her free hand latching onto Charlotte’s wrist as the two woman fought their way through the crowd. A cart tipped dangerously sideways; a young model shouted a profanity their way. Angelina failed to hear any of it.

“I’m almost outside.” She reached the door, turned sideways, and used her hip to push her way into the main studio. “Where are you?”

“Same spot.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She flipped the lip back, the charms dancing around wildly as she slowed her pace. Charlotte, out of breath and worse for wear, grasped her shoulder as a deep sigh left her throat. Head lowered, shirt muffled, she glanced up at her client’s wide eyed, idyllic expression.

“I almost died, and you’re smiling like that?” Charlotte held out her arm and grunted as Angelina gently slipped the bag from between her fingers. “Watch it. I have a bruise there now.”

“Sorry, Charlie...”

“No, no, it’s ok.” Charlotte pushed a few silver dangles away from her wrist and rubbed the sore area as she started across the floor. Angelina’s steps had suddenly become lighter, more blissful and relaxed. “How did you know it was him calling?”

“I have a different ring tone for every person in my address book.” Angelina slipped her cell phone into her back pocket, careful to tuck in the four charms that hung off the side ring. “I don’t even have to get up to see who it is anymore.”

“Doesn’t that get bothersome?” Charlotte held open the front doors for her client as they reached the end hallway. A cool, damn breeze licked their skin as they both stepped into New York City. “No surprise anymore…”

“My friends and I always used to do it.” Angelina looked up at the sky, frowning as a colder breeze pushed the scent of raw sewage and street hotdogs her way. “I had gotten so used to them calling me that every time I hear the song in real life, I think of them. It’s nice…”

“Do you still talk to them?”

“I think it’s going to rain.” Angelina covered her eyes with a free hand, her heavily glossed lips parting as she scanned a rectangle of clouds between two skyscrapers. Then, as the small sea of people abruptly parted, she caught a glimpse of a man leaning idly against a concrete ledge, a cigarette held against his pale lips. “I should get going.”

“Take care, babe. Put your coat on!” Charlotte nodded as she moved back under the protection of the studio’s underpass. “I’ll call you late tomorrow. You have fun tonight, ya hear?”

“Thanks, I will. Say hi to Robert for me.” Angelina pulled the sleeves of her pea coat up over her shoulder, the make-up laden bag resting indolently against her bent thigh as she struggled to wave goodbye. “Have a nice a night afternoon.”

She slipped behind a group of tourists and, within mere seconds, she was out of sight.

“Rough day?”

Reemerging, she was greeted with a kiss to her forehead as Brad’s hand resting neatly on top of her head. His fingers intertwined with her chocolate curls that had been sewn in and, as she felt the warmth of his lips touch her skin, she closed her eyes and leaned against his broad chest. The mixture of expensive cologne, cigarette smoke and brandy tickled her nose as she inhaled.

“No, not really.” Angelina glanced up at him, only to see that he had turned to leave. She shifted the heavy bag against her tired shoulder, cringed at the arising pain in the soles of her feet, and hurried to his side. “How was your day?”

“Horrible.”

“Oh,” She nodded slowly and turned her head to the side, her silver eyes playing over the hordes of people as they rushed by. No one had recognized her in New York yet, much to her dismay. The name Angelina was famous, yes, but not in this world where actresses, models, and those destined for fame flocked. “Bradley? Are you busy tonight because I was thinking that we could--?”

“I have a meeting.”

“Oh…” She pursed her lips gently and strained a smile onto her devastated face. Another chilly wind ran through 8^th Avenue as she glanced down towards Brad’s hand. Her fingers alreadily extended, only to find that his were too busy lighting another cigarette. Not entirely surprised, and somewhat numb to its implications, she signed softly and let her arm swing lazily by her side.

It was then that Angelina thought she sensed something faint and beautiful. If one were to ask her, years later, what had wedged itself so deeply into her mind that late February afternoon, she would have glanced behind her, into the empty, dead air, and smiled.

“Brad, did you just--”

She felt it again, a weak, saddened emotion that tightened her chest in longing. As it grew, deeper it went, until a heaviness caused a caged gasp to release from her chest. A strange pain started in her stomach, tickling almost, like small fingers running against the curve of her rib bones. She felt an unnatural warmth brush her skin and, as the first sprinkles of rain fell, panic and fear started to inch their way into her mind. She suddenly lost her footing as the edge of her heel slipped against the greasy, uneven pavement. A startled cry clogged her throat and tried to tip a knee and compensate her decent.

She saw the color red on her way down, but, years later, when asked, Angelina would try to deny it.

Crawford had glanced over seconds before her slip. With his fingers to his chin, lips parted against the orange filter of a Marlboro, he quickly jerked out his free hand to stop her fall. His palm, strong and protecting, reached for her extended arm. He felt the black fabric of her coat brush his wrist as she neared and, with the echo of her troubled gasp fresh in his ears, he closed his hand.

She fell right past him.

“Oh God.” Angelina stumbled, an embarrassed smirk growing on her face as she pushed herself up with the help of a concrete ledge. With a playful laugh on the tip of her tongue, she was able to straighten herself and wipe off the white concrete dust that had dotted the edge of her pea coat. “I really need to pay attention to where I step.”

Crawford stood there, cigarette now sizzled out on the ground, with his hand empty, his palm vacant.

“It’s raining.” He listened to her voice start to distance itself, the sound of her pumps clicking away on the pavement. “Bradley, we really should get going…”

He looked at her then. He, for the first time, actually took a moment and looked at the woman he had told himself to fall in love with. She stood there, not as the perfect reincarnation of his achievements in life, not as a porcelain doll or a trophy. Angelina suddenly became human. He saw the bones peeking out of her collar, the sharp angle of her lanky hips, the aberrant, grotesque length and leanness of her fingers and arms. Her face was smooth and inhumane, no laugh lines had etched joy into the corners of her eyes or lips. Her eyes were dull, a deadened gray that could hardly touch the vivacious sparkle that he once remembered. She was too pale, to small, to unsure, to dependant. He had leached her dry, every memory, every recollection of a world she once loved. But, still, he saw that small glimmer inside. Oppression had been burned into every inch of her body. But, still, he saw how strong she still remained. Defiant. Bold.

He had held out his palm to her, only to realize she never really needed it.

With his hand slowly inching down against his body, Brad Crawford finally saw how beautiful she really was. Perfection had left her, yes, but it had been replaced by something else, something he couldn’t quite touch.

“Brad?” She stood a few feet away, back to the street, as her arms respectfully motioning him towards a hotel’s cloth overhand. “We can stand under there until the rain lets up.”

A black limo drove behind her, a car horn sounded in the distance, and he suddenly saw the glint of the engagement ring glued to her ring finger as she pointed.

“Bradley?” Crawford walked to her side and they continued on. Instead of looking astray, he kept his amber gaze on her and suddenly smiled. “Are you--”

“Marie?” Her reaction was instantaneous and breathtakingly beautiful. He reached out his hand, the edge gently touching the warm, soft skin of her palm before cupping her fragile fingers within his own. “I’m canceling my plans tonight. Where would you like to go?”

“Does it rain every day in Manhattan?”

Sofia Takatori shifted her eyes sideways as a hand was raised in the air. It waved gallingly towards the tinted, rain streaked window to the couple’s right. The woman’s other arm was crossed before her chest, her legs neatly angled against the leather interior of the limo. She wore a well fitted, notably expensive cashmere suit, the helm of her pants brushing again a pricey pair of black Michael Kors sandles. She was the epitome of sophistication, the essence of supremacy and class.

“It reminds me of Tokyo.”

“Go down 8^th.” The blond called to the chauffeur through a sheet of black dividing glass. She quickly rapped her manicured fingers against the panel before resting back in her seat, legs crossed in irritation. “We may miss that conference with Mars tomorrow morning if we don’t hurry this up.”

“We’ll make it, Rhia.”

“Takatori-san,” Rhiannon leaned across the seat, her dark russet eyes pleading silently. With a noticeably goaded frown, she pointed to the black box on her superior’s lap. “We could have waited, you know.”

“I know.”

“At least this is the last year we’ll have to make this trip.” The blond straightened up, pulling the tails of her blouse neatly against her lap. She twirled her hand, glanced momentarily at the loose, gold watch hanging from her wrist, and shook her head. “Even in death, Reiji is still able to--”

Her cell phone suddenly rang; the tune was all too familiar.

“Hai, Riku?” Rhiannon spoke into the phone, the receiver barely at her ear before she started talking. Her hand shot up in a call for silence. Sofia nodded and turned her head towards the misty, tourist littered streets of New York. “It’s all set up? Ah, sooka, I’m afraid that Takatori-san and I will not be back in Shibuya by the time…”

Sofia’s mind gently wandered, her ears shrouding the sound of her colleague’s heavily accented voice. With the soft hum of the engine, and the soothing, crisp sound of raindrops hitting the roof overhead, she felt her mind loosen. She no longer lived within the moment, no longer realized what she held in her hands.

When they arrived at the cemetery, Sofia was the only one ready to move. She didn’t wait for Rhia. Instead, her fingers were on the handle before the limo even came to a complete stop. With eyes squinted, she pushed her door open and stood beside the gates of Montefiore.

The wind whipped her air out behind her as she started forward. With each step, both heels sunk into the damp soil and the bottoms of her coat opened and fluttered out like wings.

She looked surreal as she walked across the grassy hill towards the main cemetery plot. Shadows of cracked tombstones lining her narrow path, another visitor rose to glance her way, but sunk back within seconds. With each step, the box in Sofia’s hand rattled. She held it close to her body, protecting it from the storm with the thick billows of her coat. The moment she stopped, the distant expression on her face grew. She paused, waited as the tails of her trench coat to flap back to her side, and looked down at her mother’s grave.

Sofia stood sideways to the monument, her body shaded by the tall, weathered crucifix that crowned her mother’s resting place. The wind had picked up, yet the overwhelming smell of pine and uprooted earth hardly discouraged her.

The box was thrown to the side. Within Sofia’s wet, numb fingers was a clear container of ashes. She rolled it within her palm, listening as the gold cap clanked against the rings she wore.

“This will be the last year I come.” Her words sounded defiant but, underneath, her strength was shivering against the cold. “I won’t return after this.”

The placement of the capsule was quick. She leaned in cautiously, touched the rounded tip against the groove, pressed, then snapped her hand back to her side. Her fingers didn’t so much as touch the tombstone. As much as she held back, it was then that something fragile broke within her.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hardly over a whisper as she kneeled down. Her hand pressed against her mouth and she kissed her fingertips with shaking lips. She touched her palm flat against the ground and closed here eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The rain had stopped, yet Sofia failed to realize this.

“At least you two are happy--”

“Takatori-san, we need to go.”

Sofia straightened and glanced back, her eyes meeting the uncomfortable gaze of her partner. Rhia stood atop the hill, the wind gently blowing through her golden hair. A hand was holding her cell phone as she shifted her weight onto one leg and spoke.

“I just got finished talking to Riku.” Rhiannon watched as her superior started her way. “EssZet has finally been broken up into two factions. Mars was able to storm the lesser faction, severely wounding Naoe-san’s right-hand man. She told me that Grace and Pamela followed Farfarello as long as they could, but he somehow got away. No one believes he survived those wounds though…”

Sofia neared the crest, her arms crossed as she glanced past them to the ground. She paid no heed to the blond before her.

“EssZet’s empire is crumbling, Takatori-san,” Through her tone, Rhia tried to convey the same feeling of relief and liberation that she felt within. “If we strike again soon, we could finally win…”

Sofia silently passed.

“Takatori-san? We should really be getting back to headqua--”

“Why don’t you call me Sofia anymore?”

A silence erupted between the two. Rhiannon stood startled, her eyed glued to the face of her boss. She drew a blank, glanced down, and tried to mutter something without much success.

“What happened?” Sofia extended her hands, motioning back and forth between the two of them. “When did you suddenly decide that you were any less a person than me?”

“I…I don’t understand.”

There was a strange emotion swirling within Sofia. She felt like screaming, crying, yelling to the heavens how much she hated this. She hated how everything had changed, how she had gotten her wish to rule, yet realized she only really felt alive when she had a goal to strive towards. She hated what she had now as apposed to what she once did. She hated the fact that she was alone even though a part of her real life still stood loyally beside her. Thoughts and dreams of grandeur were perfectly fine as a child, as a foolish teenager, but she realized what she wanted could never stand up to what she actually needed.

“From now on, you talk to me as a friend, not a coworker.”

Sadly, Sofia no longer knew what she needed anymore. Stress, and the trivialities in life, had watered down the memories she once recited to keep her sane.

“Rhiannon, when was the last time we actually enjoyed what we were doing?”

The blond stood silent. She knew the answer, but she didn’t dare to speak it.

“What makes you smile anymore?” Sofia turned towards the limo, her eyes orbs of shivering amber. “I see you sometimes, smiling at memories that I no longer remember.”

“You’re just overworked.” Rhiannon could do nothing else but touch a gentle hand to her partner’s shoulder. She took the first step and, together, they slowly started towards the limo. “You should sleep on the plane on the way home.”

“Let’s take tonight off.” Sofia guessed Rhiannon’s reaction simply from the sound of her surprised gasp. She slanted her eyes to the side, watching the blonde’s face show her silent refusal. “Charlie and the others are doing what they need to. I have faith that they will finish the tasks that we have set before them. The two of us deserve a break.”

“But, Takato--”

“Sofia.”

Rhiannon cleared her throat unnervingly as the two of them reached the limo. With the intention of opening the door for her leader, Rhiannon reached out her arm, only to have it nudged away by Sofia’s side. She quickly made her way around the rear end of the car, pulled up on the door, and slide her way onto the plush leather seats.

“Chauffeur,” Sofia’s voice carried through the large interior, squeezing between the small gap linking the front cab divider and the ceiling. “What’s the best restaurant on this side of Manhatten?”

“Sofia?” Rhiannon reached out to her boss, pulling gently on the sleeve of her coat. “Are you serio--”

“If you were to ask me,” A small shimmer of green flashed as the chauffeur pulled their black cap down. “That would be Daniella Restorante.”

“Alright then.” Sofia nodded and sat back. “Take us there.”

“We had already made reservations!”

Marie winced at his voice. She knew others were looking at them unnervingly. The last thing she wanted was to draw too much attention.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Crawford.” The Maitre d' shook his head as he flipped through the seating chart before him. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Do you know who this is?” Brad suddenly turned his body, his hand motioning towards the woman that had been on his arm. Marie, whose head was tilted towards the crowed restaurant, turned back in surprise. “I called earlier today. Whoever answered said he would have a table ready for us.”

“Yes.” The younger man was frowning heavily; a sheen of sweat grew on his brow. “You talked to me. I...I don’t know what happened to your name.”

“Did you write it down?” Brad had crowded the podium, both his hands grasping an opposite side as his voice rose. Draped in black Armani, Crawford looked oddly imposing. A stark contrast to the calm, often taciturn man Marie knew. “Don’t tell me you forgot to write my name down.”

“Bradley.” Marie tried to keep her voice down. Her silver eyes scanned the couples standing beside them. She tried to smile at them, yet her unspoken apology was shunned with off-putting frowns. “Please.”

“If you would wait for a few…um…hours, we could rearrange a table for you.” The Maitre d’ shuffled the papers in his hands awkwardly, his gaze trying not to meet the customer that leaned over his podium. “I can’t promise you the exact table that you asked for before but --”

“Wait? You want me to wait?” Brad’s eyes narrowed. He straightened up slowly, his fingers pushing the edge of his glasses further up his nose. “I reserved the best seat in the house and you expect me to wait for it?”

“Well,” The boy took a deep breath, contemplating how to respond. “I can’t…exactly promise you that seat. We have a waiting list for it for the rest of the --”

“Let me see your manager.”

The order was chilling. Brad somehow conveyed the message calmly, while the emotion on his face depicted snide abhorrence. Hearing him, Marie, who had distanced herself from him because of the amount of people huddling within the lobby, felt a light hold on her wrist. She was helped forward, her frail hands clutching her purse to her chest as she made her way through the throng. The hold lessened as Brad directed her towards a bench beside the main ballroom.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” He motioned to the empty seat. “I want you to wait here while I talk to the manager.”

“Brad!” Marie grabbed his sleeve as he tried to walk away. “Please, it’s ok. We don’t have to eat here.”

“No, just wait for a moment.” He touched her hand gently and she released him. With his chin slightly tilted, glasses whitened and opaque by the overhead light, she saw him smirk. “I promised you.”

“But I don’t--”

He disappeared back into the mass, his broad shoulders the last thing she saw before an older couple blocked her view. Now alone, Marie, with brows heavily furrowed, looked behind her at the wooden bench. She moved her arm underneath her legs to gather up her dress and slowly sat down.

She took the time to look around her. The large restaurant was too warm for her taste, but the smell coming from within the kitchen made up for her discomfort. Daniella Restorante was, in all sense of the word, packed from wall to wall. Table upon table was filled, waitresses hurried from one booth to the other, their extended hands holding high trays filled with food. The occasional high pitched laugh was heard over the low, voluble murmur. Marie, quite curious, peered around the corner of near wall, glancing into the main eating area of Daniella. She had been here, years ago, but was taken aback by how much it had changed. It was brighter, bigger, more inviting and beautiful then what she remembered. She searched the wide room for the seats that Brad had reserved for them earlier. After a few moments, and a great deal of straining her neck, Marie spotted the round, elegantly dressed table by the far wall. It was impossible to see the entire area for so many people walked before her, obscuring the already blurred sight of it. She sat back as someone took the bench beside her and nodded kindly as elderly woman smiled her way. Marie looked back out into the ballroom, trying to find the booth once again. She could make out the silhouette of the couple sitting there after some difficulty and gently grinned at the thought of two lovers sharing their meal together. At least someone was enjoying the moment. Somehow, that settled her anxiety.

“What?” The voice had been right beside her ear. Marie turned towards the elder woman, startled when she was met with a pair of beautiful russet eyes.

“I said that your dress was very lovely.” The woman touched Marie’s shoulder with the warmth and grace only a mother could. “I’m sorry that I startled you. It’s just that you remind me so much of my own daughter.”

“Oh, no, it’s ok.” Marie beamed brightly as the woman brought her arms back into her lap. “I’m sorry, but could you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course, dear.” The older woman nodded and watched as Marie stood. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes, my fiancé.” She lied. Marie outstretched a hand, placed it gently on the woman’s, and smiled. “Have a wonderful night.”

“Oh, You too, dear.”

After a few steps into the room, Marie had thought she would be stopped immediately. But, as she slowly made her way past each table, she realized that no one’s eyes were on her.

Marie glanced back towards the bench, only to find it occupied by the woman’s husband. The two were turned towards each other, talking quietly as they waited behind the seemingly endless line of people.

She ducked underneath a waiter’s tray, sidestepped a man who had just pushed in a chair for his wife, and squeezed between a table and the wall. Finally, as she stepped into a less populated area, slightly worse for wear, she glanced up and saw the table Brad had reserved for the two of them.

It was empty.

The food was laid out. Napkins were unrolled and stained with sauce. The silverware was tilted against the side of the plate, smudged with crumbs. There was a cell phone laying on top a folded napkin and a dress coat hanging over the back of the chair.

Marie waited for a moment, looking around her for the couple she thought she saw eating there earlier. She guessed they had gone to the bathroom or, quite possibly, to talk with other customers. Sighing, Marie glanced one again at the table, then turned to walk back to the main lobby.

Suddenly, as she moved forward, something stopped her. A small pain pricked her temple, she felt a solid weight on her chest. Every attempt she made at pushing forward, she felt an equally firm nudge back. Her lungs tightened as the feeling swarmed through her body, tickling her stomach, spreading goose bumps up along her arms. Just as she was blocked passage to move forward, a feeling of warmth overcame her. The same she had felt earlier that day. She held out her hand and passed it through the air in front of her. A pulse played on her finger tips, a sort of electrical kiss ran through her flesh. And, then, as the tension shifted…

She can kill with a smile. She can wound with her eyes
The sound didn’t reach Marie’s ears at first. The overflow of noise in the large ballroom had muffled the song she hadn’t been able to listen to for years.

She stopped, turning slowly as the clang of forks and knives melted in the background, the buzz of conversation dulled to a low, monotonous hum.

And she only reveals what she wants you to see
Her eyes scanned the dining table. Atop the napkin, antennae flashing, was the small, silver cell phone.

She hides like a child
It shook, vibrating gently as the display screen illuminated. Marie, as though through water, leaned forward, her eyes wide. A deep, blinding sadness was building in her mind.

Marie’s head tilted, her mercury eyes scanned the illuminated name on the display.

A woman…
Her heart sank. It couldn’t be…

To me.
She grabbed the phone, her purse flying to the side. It knocked over a cup of wine, splashing it against the milky white table cloth. The sounds within the ballroom suddenly erupted within her ears, her stomach churching as the smell of food assaulted her nose. She could hear her name being called above the deafening roar of voices. Her fingers flew over the cell phone, flicking the lid open without even the slightest bit of deference.

“Autumn?!” Her voice was shrill, scared. “I can’t believ--”

“Turn around.”

“Excuse me!” A voice suddenly shouted from behind her. Marie, her breath shooting past her lips, hands shaking horribly, heard a dull bout of static as the call disconnected. “What do you think you’re--”

Marie had turned around and suddenly stood face to face with her past.