MINYA
take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
you ain't gunna burn my heart out
I always wondered how you do that.
Stiffness slides up the graceful curve of her spine. She pauses, momentarily, with her drink close to her lips. When she slips at last, it is with grace and elegance. Her lashes are low and she does not look to the Red Rose, yet Minya knows the lilt of that smoky voice anywhere.
They are clearing the stage, Minya watches as the pick up each trinket and place it in a box: a dozen roses, a watch, a necklace, more flowers – so many flowers. Minya gives them away to those waiting outside the doors of the Scarab. She gives them to children who do not know what to do with them but smile pleased and thankful all the same. The box is bursting when they take it back stage and Minya hopes Manon sees it.
Her smile is slow, slow and she turns at last to settle that midnight gaze upon the Red Rose assassin. “Wondered how I do what, Manon?” Minya asks at last, her voice the sound of honey and whiskey. It is warm, so much warmer than the smile that curls her lips and the stone-cold gaze of her moonlight eyes. Yet nothing about that smile is sincere, its beauty is that of stars and planets and echoing ages, yet behind it is something dark. It is a black hole smile swallowing, fake, manufactured to keep everyone from the ache behind it.
Her fringe is a wash of rose over her eyes, strands snag in the khol of her lashes. Her gaze glitters with its diamond dust and she does not lift her gaze from Manon. All the world is Minya’s stage and every piece of her is intricate drama and a precise art. A slender shoulder lifts in a shrug, as if nothing of what she does is truly of any note, but oh it is. The girl is a goddess of the stage, enchanting beguiling enrapturing her audiences. She steals hearts and eyes and voices when she dances and eats the fires that lick along her skin.
She chimes as she moves, she glitters like the sun, she gleams like moonlight tumbling over and over itself just to fall at her feet. Ah she smiles now, feline, sultry, claws in every curve of those silken black lips. She feels the sting of Manon’s indifference, she knows the blades she hides and oh how below Minya fighting is! She will not get her body so dirty as to fight and steal the life of another. No, she settles herself with stealing hearts and adoration. She is the thief of whimsy and enchantment.
“Indeed, Manon.” The girl purrs, feline, soft, the curl of a cat about its owner as it asks for food. Touch her Manon and claws will be in your skin. “Welcome back. How long has it been now? A week, two?”
Not long enough.
Anyone is so very welcome! <3 | "speaks" | notes: oml Minya has some serious claws, i am so sorry!
