The murder

Red.

A red stain on the cobblestones.

Red, red spreading over the cobblestones, as red as her red, red lips.

~

She, Tsairenn, was the girl, the young lady, that everyone either wanted, or wanted to be. She had everything, or so the gossips said, looks, money, men begging for her favours. Her circle of friends, those that she trusted, adored her and would do anything that she desired, catered to her slightest whim in the hopes that her popularity, her charm would rub off on them.

Deep green eyes, the rich colour of oak leaves set behind sparkling, captivatingly long lashes. Curiously coloured hair, like all the shades the precious metal could be, gold, rose, white, shimmered together into Tsairenn’s thick coiled locks. A heart shaped face, with high cheek bones and an ever present, warm smile curving those red, red lips. A swan like neck, long, delicate, dainty, from her head to her shoulders and from then on her body is formed. Lithe, curved, soft; perfect.

To her suitors, she is a goddess, to her rivals, a porcelain doll but though they do not care for her, they still cannot fault her beauty. And it is her beauty that is her downfall.

One man she scorned when she shouldn’t have, one proposal she should have politely declined rather than accepted, and then rejected as though his heart, his feelings, were as nothing. Two men, both burned by her, and a lady, who she once thought was Tsairenns friend, a small knot of darkness under the glow of Tsairenn’s life.

Two men set the scene, broke the balustrade, cleared away the plants before vanishing into the night. One lady, beguiled the enchantress, leading her onto the landing. One girl, leaning against an unsteady rail suddenly trips on the hem of her skirt, the fabric torn and left behind, fear in her green eyes as she turns, desperate to reach out to something of safety, only to find that her companion was out of reach.

She wobbles, almost catching her balance before the broken balustrade gives way, cracking and dropping the two stories down onto the cobblestones, a loud, sharp CRACK splits the night air, but no one can hear over the music within. Multiple shades of gold, rose and white spin through the air, losing the pins as she windmills her arms, flailing, trying to keep her balance on uneasy heels.

One lady, leans forward, Tsairenn gets the light of hope in her eyes, only to have them return to a darker fear at the blade that appears in the lady’s hand, cutting a nick in the hem of the skirt, tearing it and dropping the little scrap of fabric on the balcony. A cold smile curves pale lips and a gloved hand gives the beauty a push, not much of one but enough to set her off balance and down.

Down, down, following the broken balustrade, those red, red lips open in a wail of fear and ignorance, “Why?”

The last word Tsairenn speaks before her head cracks on the cobblestones, cracks with much the same sound as the balustrade as it shattered. And there is a red stain on the cobblestones, a spreading red pool.

~

Blood.

Red blood on the cobblestones.

A red, red stain, a spreading pool of blood on the cobblestones.

As red as Tsairenns red, red lips open in the slackness of the wail, the final wondering why.