Alone, silhouetted against worn, crumbling brick buildings, she waited. It was here that women sketched caricatures of love for men by night. Perhaps they did not know the difference. She pulled the edges of her robe tighter, closed, as the wings of a raven, protecting what her clothes did not shield from the biting night wind.
"Have you seen this woman?" A small photo invaded her blank, unfocused stare and, turning her gaze to the picture, she examined it. A woman, still veiled with youth smiled at her, dancing with an invisible partner.
"Yes." Two eyes, smudged in shocking black, looked at him. Her mouth was stained a crimson, the mark of her disgrace.
A smile broke away his intent, hopeful look.
She was empty.
"You do?" He seemed so young, pitiable in his naïveté. He hastened next to her upon the cinder blocks and her chin tilted down, throwing a million ribbon-braided plaits over her face, enshrouding it. "Please, tell me where I can find her!"
She didn't answer; her thoughts had left the alleyway of cracked brick to float to a place of questions.
Lying would have been so much easier. She searched within the confines of her once fact-filled brain for an answer—
Why hadn't she?
Two warm hands clasped her shoulders and for a moment she panicked. She hated their power over her, her subordinateness. A gasp escaped her lips as her head was thrown back and her robe was thrown open.
For the first time he saw her for what she really was:
Retched, spoiled, a whore.
The woman in the picture.
"Hermione?" A garish, gauzy fabric screened precious little of her thin body from view. White legs, unkissed by the sun, bore the healing remnants of purple marks men had denoted her with . Her face was tinted with fear and the pain that she convinced, compelled herself to endure.
His green eyes traveled her as any man's would have, but they saw something else. They examined her eyes instead of scrutinizing her body.
"I love you." Resigned, sad. She forced herself to laugh, as she had forced herself to come here, not wanting to.
"Do you really want my love?" Her head bowed, she wondered why it was only him who could make her feel shamed.
He shifted closer to her and she spoke again, more gently.
"It's not worth anything anymore."
"You're wrong." His black hair splayed from its proper place and his voice was, for a moment, hoarse and forceful. She leaned away from him. He should have better. Just one year ago, she would have been that—better.
"Persephone!" The noise echoed through the street, bursting the delicate orb of her thoughts that had held her so tenderly, cradling, serenely rocking her… She left it and the man behind. His face questioning, his gaze followed her. At the door, she paused, hand squeezing the knob so tightly that her long fingers reddened, and turned back, making soft noises with her heels against the precarious gravel.
Two soft, persuasive hands pulled him up by his elbows and he wrapped his hands around her welcoming waist. She slid her pale, ringed fingers snakelike behind his neck. They stood there for half a moment, lust left behind, her cheek freezing against his warm face. Slowly their mouths approached each other, ready to remember what they had long ago forgot. Millimeters from meeting, the voice again broke the silence, repeating itself.
Quietly she slid from his loose grasp and let her hand fall down his cheekbone. Tears bejeweling her face, she ran away.
"Sometimes, you have to leave it all behind."
AN: This is a one-chapter story, so anyone who asks me to "update soon i want to know what they do" will only achieve my making frustrated noises as I read his or her review. Thank you for reading and please review!