Entrapment

The mirror promptly shatters as it does with every waking of the blood blue sun. The spine edged shards have no reason to drop to the floor from morning to thrilling morning, for the inexplicable image that comes before the frame never provides one. What can be called a face retains naught a remotely beautiful quality. Two jaded emeralds, near neon with the light they capture, rest on either side of a small, slenderly curving nose. Searing pouted lips curl in a permanent smile, white chapped edges of dead skin peel away from them, denied moisture for years. Arching waves of flower petal hair seem to hover silkily atop crops of pale creamed skin, horridly satin to the eye and raking to the touch. Her body takes to the hour glass, long legs airily free beneath the grotesque yards of velveted wheat and cream gauze she had found in the slums of the sidewalks. As she stood with the fragmented glass falling icily to the floor, she smiled that perfectly horrifying, white as morning snow smile. She was a prisoner, captured out of fear of her ugliness, kept out of the streets by day to keep from frightening the children. She was a monster.

One long, enslimed, dreary stone corridor separates her golden chamber from the sapphire and the ruby. There were but three that had been taken, wandering the streets in bemystified confusion, three subjected to inexplicable torture and yet had managed survival. They are contained in the worst of conditions, daily baths of bubbly excruciation, and given only the most grotesque of sugared red fruits, compiled by the bravest chef of the land. Each monster is similar, though varying in amounts of horridity and abhorrence to the vision.

The ruby is of smaller stature than the gold, her equally shining hair kept black and short, her eyes the same terrifying ebony as the shade of midnight. She speaks only in eloquence, preferring to read the mind burning, dreaded works of one Shakespeare. Such a terrible mind spends the long hours in captivity curled up against the harshest of silk fabrics, gazing at curling scripts, black and snaking over ancient, musted pages. As the gold enters her chambers, her cell, the faintest glimmer of a poisonous smile creeps across her lips.

"Good morning," her voice is of pure seduction, slightly rusted at the edges from disuse.

"They're coming today," the gold replies. Honey edges her own yellow tones, rich and warm but sweet as the summer morning sun. The ruby inclines her delicate head in a nod, just as royalty might.

"I know." Her cellmate nods as well, her laughing eyes matching her candied smile.

The same hallway echoes slightly beneath the faerie steps of the tall golden woman when she leaves the ruby chamber. She avoids the only imbalances of the dreamworld prison as she saunters carefully down the hall. The dripping moisture that pools in the corners of the enmossed stone could be heard at all hours of the day; drip, plink, drip, plunk.

The sapphire exists in painfully blue gowns of some eternally mind bending fabric, taking to the earthen trees for her prison. She can barely see over the gold's head, lengths of auburn locks often curling about her shoulders. Her time is spent with the quill and ink of navy, dotting pages after endless pages with the spots of her moontouched mind. She is of the eccentric, her mind folds over and again as satin creases and bends, wraps around high ideas of the universe.

"They're coming today," the sapphire preemptively speaks, never turning her burning hot chocolate eyes from her pages.

"Yes."

It was supposed by the townspeople that with such horrendous conditions, what their people considered to be torture, the monsters would have no choice but to perish within the month. A date had been set for three of the town's bravest young men to enter the castle, seek out the lifeless bodies of the poisoned, tainted, sickened beings entrapped, and set fire to the entire structure. What they found, however, when they scaled the forest green peaks were three delicate beauties awaiting them.

It is uncertain as to what truly happened when the three men broke the unseen, unbuilt walls surrounding the building. Myth pervades truth pervades memories. The entrapper became the entrapped, though to this day, the sounds of breaking glass can still be heard, faintly resounding, whispering over the mountaintops in mysterious breaths of an untold story.