dressing chair; the town whispering in wait for its newest dark sweet.
The finery, the wine, and small sparkly things that suggest one is well-
cared for adding up about her: Italian linens, silks, cashmeres, and
feathers in piles around her nervous feet; never standing too long in one
place; oh if she stopped he'd want a kiss. No slowing down. Forward and
back. Forward, side to side. A bad ballerina. An unpleasant dance. And if
you'd seen it, you'd have felt a twinge of guilt for watching, maybe even
had a bit of sadness for a girl so lost. But then it would have been of no
surprise to you what came next...
One day, while all were out in the town, making preparations for a buona
festa, she fled naked, the look of a thousand years in her eyes.
Now she is trapped only by her loneliness.