There was a darkened silence, as a feathery whisper of the phantom's words danced around in Christine's head.
Masquerade Paper faces on parade . . . Masquerade Hide your face so the world will never find you . . .
Christine touched her face to catch a tear, but her eyes seemed tapered to her husband whom garnished the silence with a smile. The way he looked at her gave her a cold of repentance, the goose flesh that now rippled among her skin didn't help her in anyway. She felt immediate guilt and wished to shove away what she had said. But her husbands reaction was mild. Or so it seemed.
Her gave a grim smile, but more like a warning. Christine slowly back to the door hoping that it was a mere fight and that he still thought she was obedient. Her dress slid on the carpet making a hushed noise through-out the room.
"Are these some foolish lies you speak of?" his voice rumbled stilly, she noticed his anger was about to reach his threshold.
Just like if she was speaking to a full on stranger Christine spoke directly to the ground.
"No sir,"
"What I speak of is no lie."
her molasses colored curls tickled her chest, her eyes held a glance of worry.
The damned would be praised, for what she had done was far unthinkable.
"Suppose I know," his fingers where now reaching into his pants pocket to grab out something, but what she did not know. He seemed to like torturing a nervous soul, his face seemed far to relaxed but his voice was surely hiding some waited anger.
"What a dirty little Gypsy's toy!" he shouted and pulled out a shriveled rose, it's defined beauty was crushed, the delicate petals where torn. The vicomete which seemed half gone mad or drunk swerved a bit and ripped the rose up with vengeance. He plucked the petals off one by one and dropped them on the ground smiling.
then taking the stem he licked it then smacked his lips pleasurably and growled
"Roses have blood too."