Fear Me, Love Me

by Lilith Vincent

“Who wants to go around wearing an old curtain?” Me. I do. This lace probably once hung in some frail old lady’s living room, and when she died her daughter or granddaughter washed it, folded it, and donated it to charity. Long before that, the old woman was a young woman, and she was in love with someone; she must have been to buy such romantic lace. She thought of the person she loved while she sewed the curtains and peeked hopefully through them, waiting for her beloved to call on her. She admired the lace flowers against Henson’s gloomy sky. I’m dressed in her happiness and her heartbreak. I’m dressed in her hope. There’s so little of it around lately that I’m desperate for every scrap I can get my hands on.

I’m only allowed to bleed for him. The ruler of this town. Not the mayor. Not the chief of police. Not the rich old men who live up on Wysteria Avenue. The man who runs this city from the shadows. Everyone knows it, but no one’s brave enough to say it out loud. He lifts my wrist and licks slowly up my forearm, looking me dead in the eye. Blood collects on his tongue and he sweeps it across his teeth. He smiles at me. A red, infernal smile. Tyrant Mercer.

I grasp the edge of her sleeve, fingering the torn lace. I recognize one of Vivienne’s creations with a sigh of regret. “You made this, didn’t you? It’s lovely. I’m sorry. Those assholes ruined your beautiful work.” “It’s just an old curtain,” she mutters. “No, it’s not.”