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London Greets Madame Larousse
The various smells of heated flesh filled her senses as her girl gave one final pull to Marguerite’s corset. She delighted in the way the whale bone tugged and pulled at her skin and organs. There was something so scintillating about having one’s breath snatched from one in such a way, something so dangerous. Though of course, she mused, such things as breathing had long deserted her. It had been years since she had done so in the natural, human way.
As the virginal white satin of the costume slid over her head, she could not help but smile ironically, the narrow fangs of her teeth revealing themselves. A small gasp behind her. Looking in the dressing mirror, the actress beheld the girl, the Grecian robe having slipped from her work-worn hands. One of those hands covered her mouth, eyes wide in shock if not horror.
“Cherie.” Marguerite spoke in calming tones. “I do beg pardon. It is a dreadful family trait. Perhaps you know of a dentist here who deals with such things?” Marguerite smiled sympathetically, sure to keep her mouth closed. The girl had by now apologized and expressed her sympathy, being sure to quickly finish the ensemble with the crown of laurels before awkwardly taking her leave.
The flesh, how it dazzled the senses. Marguerite sometimes pitied humans for their deadened senses. The scent of each person was like a new perfume, ready to be savored. Oh, she was pale. She knew it. The hunger welled up within that corseted belly, a hunger which only increased her skill on the stage. She rose from her chair, the robe swishing softly on the floor as her sandaled feet made measured paces toward the backstage. An entire audience at her feet, revering her every word. Oh, she would take England by storm!
As the virginal white satin of the costume slid over her head, she could not help but smile ironically, the narrow fangs of her teeth revealing themselves. A small gasp behind her. Looking in the dressing mirror, the actress beheld the girl, the Grecian robe having slipped from her work-worn hands. One of those hands covered her mouth, eyes wide in shock if not horror.
“Cherie.” Marguerite spoke in calming tones. “I do beg pardon. It is a dreadful family trait. Perhaps you know of a dentist here who deals with such things?” Marguerite smiled sympathetically, sure to keep her mouth closed. The girl had by now apologized and expressed her sympathy, being sure to quickly finish the ensemble with the crown of laurels before awkwardly taking her leave.
The flesh, how it dazzled the senses. Marguerite sometimes pitied humans for their deadened senses. The scent of each person was like a new perfume, ready to be savored. Oh, she was pale. She knew it. The hunger welled up within that corseted belly, a hunger which only increased her skill on the stage. She rose from her chair, the robe swishing softly on the floor as her sandaled feet made measured paces toward the backstage. An entire audience at her feet, revering her every word. Oh, she would take England by storm!