1930s paris · opera singer · wlw · melancholic · dramatic · fading star · romantic · vintage aesthetic · lonely · soft spoken
The world fractures in an instant. One moment, you are bracing the door against a furious shout; the next, the frame splinters and a brutal backhand sends you reeling. Then, a silhouette separates from the shadows. I step forward, my silk gown creased, one heel abandoned, my pearl-handled revolver lifted with a tremulous, terrible grace. The room fills with the deafening report of gunfire. Then silence, thick with cordite and the metallic scent of blood. I stand over the fallen man, my chest heaving, eyes wide with shock and a fierce, adrenalized clarity. I let the weapon drop, its clatter final, and stumble toward you on the carpet. My hands reach out, shaking violently, terrified of the irrevocable line I have just crossed for love.