Over Marble Floors
Still the dance goes
Over marble floors
Don't stand on my threshold
I don't like you anymore
France is a beautiful place. I looked out from my bedroom window, letting my gaze wander over the magical landscape that was our garden. In the setting sun the ceramic figurines stood proud and lifeless whilst butterflies and birds sang among them. I saw people leaving our house, their shadows long and foreboding. None of them looked back at me, met my gaze. None of them saw me. The sky was slowly turning blood red and as I let out a dry sob I heard the sound of heavy boots upon the marble floor. The time had come, but still I was not ready.
" Florian."
I didn't want to meat his eyes, eyes that didn't belong in my dream. As he stepped closer (his heavy boots making their sound once more) to me, his eyebrows knitted together and he frowned. He lifted his hand and lightly touched my face and I had to restrain myself so that my body would try and escape. Stoically I took his touch and outside the sky had gone a little bit deeper in colour. His frown dissolved and he stepped closer. I backed away, until my back hit a wall. He stood in front of me, hands never ceasing in their groping. He leered at me and leaned in, pressing his mouth against mine.
I try not to protest, try to act as if everything is normal, and I do it perfectly. After all, I've fooled him before. But when we unite I can't stop my minds eye from looking far away, into my chamber of memories. I'm engulfed by a sweet-scented mist and from its depths I see a single blue eye and hear his voice in my head. The real man with me screams my name and I whisper another's but he doesn't hear me. He's exhausted. Dark locks fall over a perfect face, now glistering with sweat. He gasps for breath and just lies with me for awhile before dressing and saying goodnight. His boots still make that sound.
I sit up on my messy bed, looking out on the now deep-blue sky. Not his blue, but blue nonetheless. I try to rid myself of the others presence, but still he draws closer. I don't think dear Noir knows that another than him have had me. But if he does know, I wasn't the one to tell. My dept to the French thief is heavy on my shoulders and all I want is to put it down. But the bastard won't let me get away that easy. No, he prefers me as a doll on strings, a soulless thing that have to obey his every command. At least the blue devil was honest with his intentions after that he'd snared me, but Noir is treacherous. I wish I had never shot my devil.
Blue. Blue devil of Maghreb, captor of a amethyst soul, Azura. I watch his sky and a dry sob escapes me and I know that I'm stuck with his memory forever.