Cissy, sitting a little stiffly on the veranda, studied the fleshy petals of the white flower in her fingers, counting. One. Two. The colorless blossom seemed to weep as she gently mutilated it, plucking petal by petal. Three. Four.
She was not aware of Bella until her hand crept softly to the small of Cissy's back, her dark Bella breathing and her dark Bella smell hot and jasmine and wanting. Without her noticing, the evening had settled around Cissy like an early fall of snow. When Bella came to her, the dusk came to her, as though twilight shaded their secrets in its bosom.
Cissy liked Bella best when she was content, after she had had her fill of Cissy's lips and wrists and girlish body, after she had drunk deeply of her sister like a goblet of wine. Bella caressed her white blonde head in her lap and twirled the remains of the beautiful bloom, counting under her breath.
One. Two.