The sleeping figure lay in sumptuous openness. There was something like gravity there in her dreaming face. How she stole hearts! All loved her, and I loved her only in this little death. She knew, somehow. She wanted the world of men to orbit her, and she attacked each of her victims at their weakest point. Mine, she had found, was simply to fall asleep. I always found her taking a nap, and it broke my heart not to lean down and kiss that beautifully round face. But a face is a mask for the soul, and hers was empty.
Just a Pretty Face
Tale Told 