No matter that the cold rain slashes watery knives across my face

It hides the tears

And I care not about my once carefully coffered hair falling wet and dank upon my shoulders

Tis someone else’s perception of beauty now

Not mine

For how is beauty perceived in the realm of the dead?

And the musty scent of old roses that clung for centuries to my pale silken gown is washed silently away.

I can almost walk amongst the living unnoticed tonight

Maybe I shall tie back my tangled locks and go dancing on the waterfront.

The refection of the moonlight and streetlamps renders a poor imitation of daylight

But yet my satin slippers still glide across the slippery wet paving slabs of the quayside and I can almost, almost forget that I am not human.

A tune whirls inside my head as I dance round and round alone in the rain

Alone and wet and dancing in the rain

Whirling and giddy in the rain

Who would see me now?

Who would laugh?

Who would dare to mock my dance?

Swirling and swishing in my damp satin slippers

Alone on the quayside


My sad state of being compelling me into actions not of my own.

A thousand slashes of tiny rain droplets are suspended in the streetlamps glow as I twirl and I swish and I swirl.

My dance reaches its crescendo and I feel released once more

From the shadows a sound

From the shadows the sweet perfume of mortal life permeates my being

And alone on the dark damp quayside I swiftly deliver my fatal kiss.

My wet satin slippers soaked once more by rivulets of ruby.