Masquerade
During the day, her eyes are dull, lifeless. They're the main instrument in her lies and deceit, she learned to use them well. She covers her feelings and her fears, not letting her eyes give away anything. She conceals herself from the people crossing her path, she hides from their scrutiny. Her eyes are full of contempt and of confidence of what she can accomplish. Her eyes have seen so much, too much. Too much pain, blood and sufferance, too much death. So many lives ended too soon and she saw it all.
At night, her eyes come alive. The veil is lifted, leaving them shining with the bright light of her soul. Her eyes are open, enabling her to see all the wondeful sights that are offered to her. She greedily drinks in the vision of her lover, raking her eyes over ivory skin, full pink lips, silky hair and perfect breasts. Taking in all the beauty of the perfection of a goddess come to life. Her eyes take in every gesture, every expressions. She takes in the mesmerizing picture of the woman sprawled in their bed. And now her eyes are expressing so much, shining with love, lust, longing and need.
During the day, the smell of evil is all around her, a mixture of mud, blood and sulfur. The odor permeating everything, the smell seeping through her clothes, leaving her itching for a shower to cleanse the stench away. Her nose is constantly assaulted by a myriad of smells, of expensive colognes and perfumes. Alluring scents that people use to mask their own pervertdness. But nothing can wash away the rottenness of thousands of creatures giving their life to fight against the light.
At night, she breathes deeply, trying to imprint the wonderful smells in her memory. Trying to remove every trace of the putrid odors she's been subjected to all day. Now she smells gardenias and lavender, vanilla and peaches. Skin smelling faintly of perspiration and strongly of sex. Hair perfumed of raspberries, the aroma creating a cocoon of sensuality all around the couple. Nostrils flaring, taking in the heady mix surrounding her. Her scent mixing with the scent of her lover, creating the most wonderful aroma.
During the day, her words are chosen carefully. The things she says are to get her way. Lies meant to belittle and impress, lies to hide herself. Those words leave a sour taste in her mouth. She wears a game face, keeping the world from seeing her true self. She censors herself to give the impression that she is what others expect her to be. Her words are meant to hurt, to outsmart. But the words make her numb, they reach her mind but never her heart or her soul. None of the words she uses mean a thing. It's only an armor, a façade she presents the world. A perfect mask over her perfect face.
At night, she speaks from her heart, from her soul. She pours her whole self in the words she uses. The words are meant to arouse and to please, to reassure and to tease. Words that beg for more when she's mindless with pleasure. It's sweet declarations whispered in her ear. Dirty words in the throws of passion that make her shiver. Nonsensical sounds expressing pleasure and longing, expressing love. It's promises that make her dizzy with want, wet with need. Those words are true, devoid of all lies. Those words mean everything.
During the day she's alone, even when she's surrounded by people. It's oppressive and unkind. Mean words and looks meant to hurt, both received and given. Sometimes it's even mean gestures that leave her shaken and often bruised. She avoids touching everything and everyone, she avoids contact. She can feel the cupidity and immorality of her colleagues, of her allies. The thought of sharing the simplest of touches with them make her sick. Physical contact makes everything tangible and real, too real.
At night, she doesn't want to stop touching, she can never get enough. It's tenderness and softness, it's pure and beautiful. Her fingers caress soft skin, her lips trace the contour of a perfect mouth. Tongue tasting every bit of flesh wantonly offered to her. Her skin feels the heat of the body next to her, under her. It's breasts brushing against her's, tantilizing sensations of exquisite pleasure. It's hair, silken and long, twisting between her fingers, the softness carressing her face. Panted breaths ghosting over her skin, fingers leaving fire in their wake. Sensations bringing her closer to ecstasy, pleasure invading her mind leaving her breathless and wanting more.
At night, the mask falls, revealing all that she is. She can be true to herself, she dosen't have to don the uncomfortable disguise she wears to face the world. At night, with the woman she loves, Lilah can finally be free.