His Favorite Color is Red

I am running, as fast as my legs will take me. Bare footed against the cool marble, dress scrunched up into my hands. The palace is dimly lit, but we are still visible in the shadows. His scent intoxicates me. All that’s left is him and I, alone. 
All that can be heard is our footsteps, and heavy breathing. We want to escape. To let the rain caress our flesh. To feel each other’s embrace. We stop when the wind collides with our sweaty bodies. There is nothing left to say.
I hold out my hand. The droplets fall onto my palm, it tickles my skin. My dress is heavy, drenched in water. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s watching me, I feel his eyes piercing through me. Without a warning he pulls me closer, and we start to dance and let the melody of the rain control us. 
My head rests on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, as we get lost in our own world. He clutches my hand speaking to me, but without words. I listen to his singing heart through his tunic. I wish we could stay like this for eternity, because I used to try to stop thinking about him, but now my mind embraces him like he’s exactly what I need to survive.
Our dancing came to a halt. We pull back. I can’t read his expression. The sound of the rain has been put aside. Instead I hear my blood pounding in my ears, as he digs his knife into my heart. Red stains his beautiful hands. The despair in his eyes tells a million stories, but his smile tells a million other lies. At Least he wasn’t lying about red being his favorite color…

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