You feel her coming, you know it because the sound of her footsteps rumbles in the room and her characteristic fragrance fill up your senses. Is delicate but powerful, made with the most exclusive flowers that someone could find in the earth. All her life she have been a perfectionist, never letting anything dirty or rotten being close to her delicate self, much less show someone the fragile sanity of her mind.
So now there you are, rushing your fingertips over the border of your dress - short too short for a girl of your age -, trying to disappear the wrinkles of the cloth; but they're always going to be there like you always are going to shiver in her presence.
For a brief moment she doesn't notice you; silent, waiting for an order come out of her mouth, with your legs crossed and your hands resting on your lap. You start questioning your clothe election. Her clothe election. The ones you're forced to wear to see a smile of approbation on her perfect face, a smile that's enough for you to feel loved by a woman that deep inside you know only loves herself.
You blink for a second when she approaches to you, researching in your mind for the correct words to her questions. The room is white, all white, except for her blonde hair color that matches with yours, and the green eyes a little darker in the light.
Her fingers caress your face, carefully like if you were a piece of glass that is about to break. And you shiver again, because you're scared of what she could do, because her touch last longer than you expected. Because her eyes shine in an emotion similar to desire.
No, it can't be. You repeat to yourself as she press her lips against your skin. Pale, too pale for being someone living under the caribbean sun. Her pink lip gloss feels sticky and her fragrance is even stronger at this distance.
You're too distracted to notice that she asked you a question a long time ago. Enough time to make her lose her patience but not too long to see the evilness in a woman shape. Still, her hand grips around your neck, pressing tightly until a light pink shade extend all over your face, showing her an expression of fear, nervousness and... Submission?
Yes. You would do anything for her. Anything to feel her touch even if that scares you inside.
"When did you... start becoming beautiful?" she murmurs before leave the room, letting you alone to fight with your thoughts, to assimilate what just happened.
What you let happen.
When did you... start becoming beautiful?
Those words repeat over and over in your mind. The symbol of a job well done, the warm feeling that comes after a reward, the crave of affection that's being given in the most humiliated form.
The room is white, all white, except for the small red drop that slides down your neck.
A/N: A short, very short, one shot inspired by Lillie and Lusamine relation. Lusamine is a bitch but honestly I'd die for her. If you want you can give me your opinion. Thanks for read :)