Moonlight Beauty

She looked beautiful in the moonlight. She always had, and especially tonight. Her long hair was loose in the wind, black and free like a raven flapping its wings, and her eyes were brilliant green, almost glowing in the wan light. The lips were deep red, matching the dress, its fabric flowing around her form, flittering and whipping back and forth around her to play hide and seek with the curves of her body. Dark and beautiful. She was a goddess. Not a trace of jewelry except for the choker of black rope and still she sparkled, transient-like, as if she wasn’t completely a part of this world. As if she couldn’t quite be contained in this reality.

Her bare feet brushed lightly the solid rock of the cliff top, pale skin enhancing the coldness, the deadness, the darkness of the stone she seemed to float above. Her hands rested calmly at her sides, her whole body relaxed, her gaze directed by the slight tilt of her head. It was impossible to say what exactly she was looking at. Maybe it was everything all at once. Maybe it was nothing.

He loved her like this, the only touch of color in the washed out dimness of the night, framed perfectly by the tree that stood guard beside her, scraggly and wind-stripped, barely able to maintain enough leaves to support itself. Low branches reached out like starved hands, desperate to grasp anything that passed within their reach and enfold it in the prison of their emaciation. One spread above her head, a claw trying to pull the creature of beauty into its web of crisscrossing limbs.

He came forward, raising a hand to caress her delicate face, so pale, so perfect and pure and white. Her skin was marred only by the bruise under her eye from the fight they’d had earlier, the purple coloring her in unique mysteriousness. His fingers traced it gently as he whispered that he was sorry, not sure if the words ever reached her through the breath of the wind. She didn’t respond—quiet, serene, peaceful. His lips gently brushed her cheek in a kiss as he told her he loved her, her body so cold in his arms, the air stealing the warmth of her delicate form.

Carefully, he reached up with his knife and cut the black rope that was her lifeline to the tree limb above. Her body went limp in his arms and he lifted her easily, the circle of twine around her neck slipping down slightly to reveal the dark purple bruise beneath it. He held her there for a moment, looking down into her relaxed, expressionless face, her body so stiff and strong, yet fluid and flowing. The stars cast flickering shadows across her skin, bathing her in a sense of awe.

She looked beautiful in the moonlight. She always had, and especially tonight.