Scarlet

You’re happy. With him. You’re in love. It’s beautiful and gorgeous and just so right. Until she sees it. She always sees it. And then she must take it away. She must break it. Destroy it. Spoil it. Steal it. And she will not stop until this is done. Hold on to your heart, she’ll take you on a rollercoaster ride.

I’m talking about Scarlet, eternally young, coquettish smoky grey eyes and ruby lips. You never stood a chance. You may have arrived, hand in hand, but by the end of the evening she will have him eating out of the palm of hers.  He will forget your name; she will wipe his memory of cherished times you shared. One kiss. That’s all it takes. As soon as his mouth touches her pouting red lips, you’re history, a lit candle against a cyclone.

Her hair never ends, like a fairytale princess; it billows and shines like there’s a constant breeze following her. Perhaps there is, there’s something strange, a dark magic, an unearthly quality, a ravishing, aching perfection that just isn’t bestowed upon us mere mortals.

To see her is to want her, take her, consume her, breathe in her musky irresistible scent and mould your body to hers. I’ve seen it happen, I’ve felt the pain. I’ve turned up with a husband whose eyes betrayed me the second he saw her. They fall in drones, at her smooth porcelain skin and voluptuous curves. She collects them, a museum of triumphs. And then they disappear, like they never existed at all. You’re left feeling quite mad, examining his birth certificate just to make sure.

You challenge her and she laughs that sweet laugh. She doesn’t care; she has more lustful fools ripe for the taking. Perhaps your lustful fool?   


 

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