Orion Glittered

She stood framed behind the sliding door, looking out into the moonlight, her white skin taking the milky brightness and absorbing it, reflecting it back onto the crystal snow.  A work of art, still-life on canvas.  Her long neck arched delicately and flowed up to her fine, oval face.  Her coat was nearly as pale as her skin, a blanched lavender, one of those old-fashioned coats, nubby material, straight - a tube for her willowy form.  Her golden hair was capped by a black fur bonnet blending into the lightless interior of the room.  She stood with one white-gloved hand raised to hold the drape away.

She heard something, sensed it, and lowered her chin.  A cat bounded out of the bushes and ran across the snowy lawn.  She watched it leave then returned her starry gaze to the sky.  Orion glistened.

She was beauty, a bridge to the past.  In her all of the former beauties of the world found ultimate expression.  She was life and art and form and grace; she was the epitome.

The stars must have called to her.  She opened the glass and stepped out onto the patio, shoes sifting down through the new-fallen snow.  She moved sensuously around the chaise lounge, long, gloved fingers trailing through the snow on its vinyl pad.  Three shadows surrounded her dainty feet - one from the starlight, one from the moon and a third from the street lamp by the driveway.  She glided closer to the bushes, face raised to the heavens.

I reach for her and lift the razor.  Black blood melts through moon-drenched snow.