Lorraine

The last thing you remember is the cold. The next thing you remember is a warm touch on your face, and dappled sunlight on your skin. Sleeping Beauty.

Lorraine

The last thing you remember is the cold. The next thing you remember is a warm touch on your face, and dappled sunlight on your skin. Sleeping Beauty.

In a field of white roses Lorraine found her. Marble, perfect and uncracked, sparkling in the morning dew. Such perfect face and more perfect lips, alight in the fire of sun. So she stole a kiss, thinking herself in perfect privacy.

Even she hadn't expected such behavior from herself. She hadn't wanted to melt so easily into it, hadn't anticipated the ache in her chest that screamed of loneliness long ignored. But suddenly, in one foolish kiss, it all came to the surface.

How much more surprised then was she, when the lips gave way, when the marble warmed, and she felt breath upon her cheek.