Chapter 9. Frostbite
Sunday, December 22nd, 1929
His sheets smell of another. They're a Ginevra pagod.
He smiles, his hand fluttering above her hip.
She's flushed, and she knows he's her god.
She looks up as he thrusts and bites her lip.
Her body trembles, taking in the tremors,
He shakes with an impatience only known to men overcome with lust.
Her world shifts and she can finally see colours,
While his breath dies in a rasp as he falls to dust.
Later, while he peacefully sleeps,
She gathers her clothes and out she sneaks,
Through the door she slips,
Knowing she will remember this for weeks.
As the snow gently caresses her skin,
She wonders if another meeting will be coming.
She knows him to be her kin,
But she fears he will know of her killing, of her scheming.
The frost begins to bite into her finger,
And she cries, letting the pain on her skin linger.