Tender inside her wound she slipped. Still broken from the last night’s fallen dreams. A few bone-dusts churned into the broth of flesh. A teaspoon of blood. A pinch of his fading memories. In this abandoned house, smelling of bearskins, alone and lost, delicacies’ been waiting for her.
Tonight, Goldilock will not find the porridge that is neither too hot nor too cold.
Once upon a time, she was a fairy tale. Magic played on her skin. Children ran through her heart. Many a demons and witches perished on her breath. One day, a prince landed right into her eyes. She closed her eyes. And they lived happily ever after.
But oh! for the boredom of continual bliss. She contemplated suicide.
So, in one fragmented dusk she caught him making love to the fairies. Children learnt new words and went out, playing.
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When Darkness Blinks 