In the mansion, and behind a hidden door she knew not to open, and on a thickly wallpapered wall on the far side of the room just above a roaring fireplace whose heat breathed upon her like that of an ancient dragon, the young woman’s gaze was all at once consumed by a golden framed portrait.
Peace, serenity, and happiness was upon display, each brushstroke of paint edge colored with genius, with glory, the smiles and the eyes radiant, like that of a newborn star eager to display its brilliance. The young woman studied the portrait, its contents, and it had an opposite effect on her.
She came into the room smiling, following the scent of freshly cut roses, but now, given a lengthy pause in which she filled with reflection like that of a water mirror, smooth, glass-like, yet as deep as an abyss, her eyes rested upon those glowing faces, the delicate teeth, winsome cheeks, and hair of reddish-yellow radiance as lovely as a brand new day; and sorrow filled the young woman’s chest.
Her rib cage transformed into a bird’s cage, locked and chained, and the little pale bird contained inside chirped aloud, understanding all, understanding little, but comprehending a deep significance laced with brittle bones, whitewashed ashes, and the foamy bubbles caused by crashed-up-rocks coated with moss and algae. Her little bird’s voice sang low, slow, the tone as sad as the lonely marshes found deep in the uninhabited part of the misty island.
Souls swirled about her, chilling her flesh, and, from some unearthly region, her grandmother’s voice cackled conscience at her, but the young woman’s eyes found true warmth radiating from the shimmery frame, the love contained within its four gilded corners sparked like baby rays of sunshine, and it touched her cool-crackling heart.
She knew what the portrait meant. It was the portal to hell, to damnation, to a place where guilt ate the flesh of those whose skin was marked with condemnation, whose eyes saw the reality behind and beyond the glimmer and glamour of a false presentation, whose master knew the truth of her heart and soul and inner-most thoughts stored deep inside within the secret chamber in her mind, and she knew instantly – instantly! – that she must flee!
She must flee her lover, and the mansion, and the room with the happy portrait that rested atop a healthy fire brimming with magic of someone else’s love, someone else’s life, a life the young woman shouldn’t know about. It was wrong of her to want, to desire, to let her heart move her lips when her mind was silent on the topic all these years.
It was then that the ghosts reappeared, as they did that first day her heart warmed toward the lover, and she decided to surrender under their frozen blanket of shame, of knowing she should be nothing to him. In looking about her, still within that warm chamber, her skin cracked, the little bird flapped zealously about her caged chest, its wings piercing and puncturing the helium stored there, and she realized that the lover’s mansion, like a cup overflowing with precious wine, contained everything he needed to be happy.
Behind her, the door sealed, shutting her deep within, trapped, hiding, scared. Her feet trembled as the bird gnawed upon its own wing, blood dripping into her belly, warm and coppery. The room grew smaller as the guilt within her grew larger, suffocating, demanding payment or a release or a sacrifice–she twirled and searched and begged, but there was one way out.
She stared into the fire’s licking flames, and saw the dragon’s face there. Hot, ethereal, eternal, and so beguilingly handsome she smiled at him, her teeth bared to him, her hazel-green eyes reflecting the swirling orange of the scene before her.
“Come,” the dragon breathed, his lava-scented breath just as sweet as the roses that brought her into the room in the first place.
The young woman will never know why she didn’t hesitate. With her first step, the fire traveled up her leg just as beautifully as a rose vine looks growing up and over a staked trellis. Orange blooms sprouted from her bones; lava coursed through her veins; and, once her entire being was tucked inside the dragon’s hearth, it consumed her whole. Fingernails like diamonds scraped her insides clean, the little bird molted and turned to stone deep in her chest, ticking like a clock, and the young woman’s skin spread, snaked, and reformed as golden scales, thick like armor, shiny like tears, and hot like a lover’s embrace.
The fire like lust in her heart consumed her completely, and her soul belonged to the dragon within the lover’s mansion, a mansion filled with flowers and blooms and, in the room she was supposed to go into, the gentle voice of a man whispering her name, dreaming of her, not knowing that the young woman he dreamed of had had her fate sealed in a room the he also loved.