The house sat relatively quiet when Diana returned from rehearsal. Before closing the large front doors of her home, she waved to her friend just as she drove away. Her heels echoed against the clean and freshly polished tiles as she moved into the main room.

"Liebling," she called as she set her heavy purse into one of the wide leather chairs. From the silence came the incessant whining of a sewing machine. The needle hollered every time it pierced and the rest of the contraption created a pounding one would expect to hear in a factory.

Diana followed the sound through the long corridor just off the front door, passing pictures of both flowers and goddesses signed by their painters in gold, until finally coming to the sewing room, where the sound grew the loudest.

"Liebling, I'm home!"

The light overhead shined in unbearable fluorescence and painted awful shadows onto Yves's face as she looked up from her thick mess of bunched-up fabric. She stopped to stare at Diana with sunken eyes that possessed more bags than her entire collection of purses, and wiped the sweat from beneath her curly, black pompadour.

"Yves, how long have you been here? You look like some kind of zombie." Diana produced a handkerchief to wipe all around the other woman's face. Yves caught the offending wrist and released a fast sigh.

"Stop it, Grandma. You're going to smear my makeup."

"Ah! How many times have I asked you not to call me Grandma? Besides that, your makeup has already smeared. You're covered in sweat. Why do you always wear such nice clothings when you work so hard? This is my favorite dress and you're going to ruin it."

"All I have are nice clothings, Schatzi." Yves stood to her full height as her bright yellow dress and all its flowing fabric settled around her. With her dark and slender arms, she grasped Diana into an embrace and settled her cheek against her short, White hair.

"I like it better when you use the French nicknames."

"Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi," Yves nearly sang.

"Oh, stop it. I don't think there's even one nickname in that song."

"How was opera?"

"Opera was okay." Diana pressed a kiss into the other woman's long, elegant neck before they came apart and held one another's hands. "We were having many problems with the lighting today, and our Pamina is terribly sick, so she couldn't come to practice. That, and the director decided when the opening night is going to be."

"When is it?"

"April 28th."

"Diana."

"I know. I couldn't do anything to change it. I think it's the day that works the best for everyone. I'm sorry, Liebling, but I thought that we can celebrate our anniversary earlier. Maybe we can go out for dinner on the Thursday before, if we have time after dress rehearsal."

"That sounds nice." Yves leaned forward and kissed Diana's forehead. "If we have time, but I'm not disappointed about opening night being when it is. I love to watch you sing, especially when you're dressed up. You're just magical."

"Oh—" Diana's face grew pink. "Is that why you've worked so hard today?" She looked, briefly, to the black and shiny fabric sitting in a frothy mess beneath the sewing machine's needle. "I'm excited to see the dress when you finish it. I know it's going to be lovely."

"It has to be. You're the queen."

"Just don't make it too heavy. I have to act in it." The shorter woman released her wife's left hand and pulled her by the right. "Enough talking. I want to eat. You look hungry too."

"I am hungry, but you don't have to worry about the dress. I intend on making it perfect."

They had just made it past the marble statue of Venus when Diana turned around and slowed her feet. Their fingers twined together as she said, "I know I'll probably like everything about it. I love your clothings."

Yves smiled and they continued into the kitchen to split the pasta salad Diana had prepared the night before. Every night, they at least tried to eat together, each taking their seats at the little table for two in the background of their large dining room. Diana would tell Yves about her various opera problems that might arise on any given day, and Yves listened with her dark, intense eyes focused on Diana's blue-grey irises. Then they would cuddle on the couch and watch television (if the clock didn't strike too late) with Yves's long arms wrapped around Diana and her lips coming occasionally to kiss behind her ear, or upon the cheek.

That night, Yves focused on Diana's neck, just beneath her jaw, where she had sprayed her perfume that morning. She always applied a small cloud from a curvy, champagne-colored bottle and emerged from the fog looking like a goddess, with her deep red lipstick and whatever dress she chose to wear.

Yves's hand slipped down one of her wife's generous curves, past the soft white fabric of her skirt, just as she opened her mouth and began to suck on a small patch of fragrant skin.

"Ah—don't. If you leave a mark everyone tomorrow is going to see."

Yves bit her.

"Stop it! That is so rude!"

The taller woman quit and held her wife even tighter, shaking with laughter against her.

"You are so stupid."

Yves's dark lips caught Diana on the cheek and she settled down. "Sometimes I still think about the first time I saw you on stage, twenty years ago."

The television spoke in the background and cast a gentle light over them. The opera singer released a breath for ten entire seconds before she touched one of Yves's hands.

"I was just a model back then, part of a fashion show in Munich. I think it was my manager at the time who had tickets to your opera, so we went, and I was gay for you the moment you walked on stage."

"Oh, Yves."

"I never would have imaged what a square you are."

Diana gasped, turned immediately to face her wife, and sank her teeth into the side of her neck, like a vampire looking to drain one of her arteries. Yves sang a little herself as she screamed at a high pitch, but Diana didn't stop; if anything, all of the noise caused her fangs to grip even harder, and when she finally let her go, Yves had shoved herself into the nook of the couch, glaring with her lips plastered into a severe frown.

"Don't worry, Yves." Diana patted her on the shoulder. "You have plenty of neck to spare."

"Fuck you."

Diana made beautiful, coloratura laughter and kissed her Liebling on the cheek. "Good night, silly bitch. I love you."

"I think I'm bleeding."

"You're okay. Walk it off."

One woman left the other to prepare for bed, and after several minutes, Yves finally freed herself from the savage couch cushions and turned off the television, wandering in partial darkness to the bedroom to find the opera goddess as a lump beneath the thick covers. Even in the darkness, Yves took her long, pointy finger and poked Diana's side, causing her to squeal. Then, she turned on the bright bathroom light and inspected the indent the siren's fangs had made. Though she hadn't drawn any blood, Yves wore a perfect mold of Diana's teeth on the side of her neck. The former model sighed, brushed her own teeth, and then washed that day's faded makeup from her face and the tiny folds of her crow's feet where powder tended to settle.

From the bathroom's shining light spilling into the bedroom itself, Yves watched as her wife writhed beneath the blankets and bitched. Even when obscured by the comforter, all of her generous shapes still showed, and Diana looked much like she had all of those years ago—a goddess on the stage, sparkling.

Even then, her hair had already turned white, and they—perhaps the director or costume designer—had wisely set a stark black tiara upon her head, and she shined like a beacon while she sang of motherly revenge.

From beneath the sheets, Diana accosted Yves with her steel grey and bluish stare, mumbling under the oppressive bathroom light.

"You're taking so long on purpose. Come to bed, Liebling. I'm sorry to bite you so much."

Yves flipped the switch and found her way into bed by the subdued glow of the moon. Her wife turned toward her and touched a few of her fingers.

"You really left a mark, Miss Weiss."

"That's Mrs. Weiss to you."

"You're lucky I won't be leaving the house much tomorrow," Yves set her hand adrift through Diana's hair and pinched her on the ear. "I'll just be working on your dress the entire day, otherwise I'd have to explain to everyone how abusive you are."

Diana stuck her tongue out and a few of her teeth shone under the shape of her smile. "You'll still drive me to the theater, won't you?"

"I guess I could make you walk, or take the subway, but I don't want you biting me again. Besides, that's no way to treat an old lady—"

Diana nearly pushed Yves out of bed. "Now I'm really going to bite you."

"Please don't."

"Then why do you always say terrible things to me? I love you so much and you're always telling me that I'm old."

"I don't mean it as bad thing. You'll always be the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen."

Diana narrowed her eyes a moment before responding. "That's better," the Queen said and came a little closer.

Yves accepted her into her embrace. "How would you feel about a powdered wig?"

"I don't know, Liebling." Her words warped under the influence of a yawn. "I think we can talk about it when the outfit is ready." She closed her eyes. "Maybe we can put flowers inside the wig."

Yves gasped. "You're going to be so beautiful."

"Oh no…" Diana yawned again. "Now you're going to be up all night."

"What do you think of silver flowers?"

"I think it's very late and I don't care. Good night, my love."

"Good night, Schatzi," Yves kissed her wife on the forehead several times, until she complained, and then the tall woman spent much of her energy attempting to stay still as she set and arranged the theoretical silver blossoms several hundred times.