The Impostor

Your Worst Nightmare

"Aurora..."

This whisper in her ear. This voice... She knows this voice. Deep, smooth, quiet, scary, and oh so tempting. It rings in her head, her body, in her very soul. No, it's not the first time she hears it, she is sure. But, is this...? Oh God, no.

A hand is touching hers. An icy touch. And still, a wave of warmth goes through her skin and takes possession of her whole body. She freezes, for no matter how good she feels, she cannot help but be afraid. The hand takes her towards a black shape, distant, impenetrable, and yet so close. Another fleeting hand is setting on her waist. Her breath stops. Her fingers are setting, in spite of herself, like drawn by a powerful strength beyond humanity, on a shoulder covered with soft fabric, as dark as death. She should run away, she knows. Before it's too late.

"Who... who are you?" Her voice breaks with the heaviness of her fear and pronounces those words, almost unwillingly. There is a lump deep inside her throat, and her lips are so dry she fears the skin might split to reveal nothing but blood underneath. The ghostly shape drags her into an enchanting waltz. She lets herself go, for it is as if she has no other choice but to comply. As if she never had a choice. She knows she cannot do anything to stop it.

Why did she ask that question, she wonders. Oh, no. She doesn't want to know. No matter what that creature is, she shouldn't be here. Yes, she definitely should not...

"Well, well. You do not recognize me, princess? What a pity! I must say I feel quite distressed. I thought no one could ever forget me that easily." Those words, cynic, honeyed, coming straight from those red lips, rolled up on teeth of a blinding white, in a machiavellian smile, turn her blood to ice in the instant.

"I am sorry, I... I shouldn't be here. I have to– I must not speak to..." She murmurs this unconvincing, rather pathetic excuse, and she is aware of it. She closes her eyes, hoping everything will just stop, hoping that mouth whose breath is now warming her cheeks will move away from her face, that cold and delicate hand will finally deign to release hers. But she doesn't do anything. She simply can't.

"To strangers?" The frightening voice supplies, turning into an sardonic, shrill laugh. "Oh, but in truth, princess, I am no stranger," whispers the red scarlet mouth into the hollow of her ear. She closes her eyes again in order to better let her sensitive ears soak in the hypnotic and languid sound of that voice. She should be thousands miles away. What would her aunties say? Oh! Her aunties can go to Hell! She doesn't want to leave. In any case, she is sure that she can't.

"But then, who... Who are you?" She asks one last time, with a sudden burning desire boiling inside her chest. The mad, guilty desire to know. Who is hiding behind that shadow which is attracting her towards them without she being able to resist? This voice, so mesmerizing it could lead her straight to the open gates of Hell? And those lips that she cannot, for the love of Heaven, stop staring at?

The shadow stops abruptly. The trance she had so carefully built all around and inside her is reduced to naught. The imaginary music that lead her steps until now simply vanished. This damned, haunting dance in the arms of the Devil ends.

Suddenly, the hand around her waist tightens its grip and attracts her even more close towards that indefinable shadow whose darkness frightens her so, and yet fascinates her so much. Her body crushes against that soulless silhouette. She looks up agonizingly slowly. Those red lips get only closer and closer. An icy smile materializes on this scarlet mouth. She cannot breath anymore, it is simply asking tremendous efforts from this body of hers which doesn't have the strength necessary. Her eyes are frozen in their eyelids which must have solidified in the process, for they simply refuse to obey her orders. Those lips hover sluggishly above her face, whereas the hand on her waist is grabbing the tulle of her dress fiercely. That sinful mouth is one inch away from hers, then. If those lips touch her, she would die. She is sure of it. Then they start moving – for the worst, there is no doubt about that – and they half-open...