The Black Violin
Helene takes two vows on her wedding day, equally rotten.
The first is private. Midnight crossroads. Chanted words. The scent of brimstone. Cherry red skin and horns in a gentleman's suit. Negotiation. A cold kiss to seal agreement.
The second, at bright noon, under a cherry blossom cascade. Alphonse's lewd smile. His thrusting tongue.
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Wedding night, his drunken hands, tearing fabric, tearing her. When she opens her eyes, the violin sits on the chair in the corner.
"Can I play for you?" she asks.
Her hands tremble. Brimstone notes. Alphonse's feet twitch.
She plays, eternal in her stained dress. He dances, feet worn down to stumps.
The End
This story was first published on Thursday, March 23rd, 2017
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The Black Violin by
Elizabeth Twist.
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