House of York, #1 by Charlotte Byrd

Author:Charlotte Byrd [Byrd, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-63225-033-9
Publisher: Charlotte Byrd

Part V

First Rounds

Everly

When I am shown…

The blood red gown makes a quiet swishing sound as I walk.

The first two steps in my four-inch heels are unsteady, and I have to lean against the wall for support. The guards lead the way and eventually I manage to get a better handle on my footing and stop tripping. The guards, dressed in tuxedos, show me down a long hallway and through a doorway. There, in a poorly-lit room with extremely high ceilings, I join the rest of the women.

Some talk among themselves. Others stand motionless, staring into space.

Something is about to happen, but we don’t know what.

I glance at the guards who surround us. Their faces are flat and expressionless, revealing nothing of what is about to happen.

Then a spotlight comes on in the distance and a brunette in a form-fitting strapless canary-yellow gown walks onto the stage.

Suddenly, it hits me where we are.

Backstage.

All light around us seems to vanish and the audience outside gets quiet. I stand on my tiptoes to get a better view of what’s going on out there.

The music comes on, a slow moving melody, and part of the stage starts to rotate. The woman begins to spin, showing her body from all angles.

Standing proudly with her shoulders back, she points her chin to the ceiling.

A man comes out, dressed in an elegant tuxedo which accentuates his large build. He runs his hand over her shoulders and up and down her neck. She tilts her head toward him, as if she is enjoying it.

Actually, maybe she is. I have no idea.

Suddenly, the man pulls out a knife from his breast pocket. I expect her eyes go grow wide with fear, but they don’t. Instead, she gives him a wink, leans over, and licks the blade.

I guess Shakespeare was right, I say to myself. All the world’s a stage and we are all players.

The man brings the knife to her chest. The point makes a little indentation in her breast as they rise and fall with each of her breaths.

He teases her with his knife.

One prick.

Then another.

Not at her skin but at the threads of her dress.

Five pricks later and the dress falls to the floor.

The stage starts to move faster, making them appear, as if they are waltzing.

The woman steps out of her dress and kicks it away.

She presses her lips to the man’s and runs her hands down his body until she reaches his belt. Then she starts to undo it.

The audience explodes in applause as the man unclasps the woman’s bra, freeing her breasts. The women backstage join in with the applause.

Reality melts away and morphs into the unknown.

I cannot distinguish between what is authentic and fake anymore.

A few moments later, the couple is waltzing naked with each other.

Their hands melt into one. Their legs intertwine. Her lips become his lips. When the song comes to an end, their rotating stage moves further away from the audience until the lights fall and they disappear.

“Wasn’t that magnificent?” A long-legged, Amazonian beauty turns toward me.

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