A beautiful woman stands in my bedroom doorway.

This is it.

A beautiful woman stands in my bedroom doorway, she's lovely full of life but seems shaken like something is wrong and some secrets not be,
she wears a tight Scarlett dress it hugs her frame pulling tightly on her curves and her edges she look sharp with points and lines spanning across her entirety dark ebony hair draping over her shoulder is saturated with bone,
it's not until she steps one foot inside that i see she's beaten,
it looks as if she's been killed, a long scar witch clean edges runs from collarbone to collarbone dripping with cranberry blood the thickness of cream and the sparkle of a clean knife,
the woman reaches down to her thin legs, slowly as not to alert me and pulls from a small band around her thigh, a little box the size of a tin can,
encrypted on the box is the words "not all angels wear white" and on the under "not all demons want you".

She looks across the room with such urgency i feel it ignorant not to look also.

A beautiful woman sits on the edge of the window,
Her dress white and shirt but has small splatters of cranberry, she seems at peace, as if she just saved a pig from slaughter. This woman doesn't turn or even seem fazed by my knowledge of her, just sitting staring at the fields that law below her just out of the window, she is u harmed and somehow i know that she is not the one in danger.

Neither am i.

The woman on the windowsill starts to turn, slowly and with caution, she seems alarmed; on edge.
The woman in red lets out a shriek, and runs down the long halls tripping over the scarlet red rug with a small grunt. She shouts begging for mercy, only to turn herself to me and disappear as she meets a tapestry of Hades.

I learnt to find comfort in this.

As i return to the room the box has been dropped and split down the middle only to reveal a set of the worlds most beautiful eyes, they are emerald green and glimmer in the reflection of the window, rolling slowly out and onto the wooden floors, staining them, not scarlet with blood but the deep silver of metal worn with age.
Once she has fully turned the woman in white scrambles to put the eyes to rest in the box once more, laying the nerves gently onto a silver pillow that lays within it.
As she crawls back to the window she finally looks up at me, but cannot make eye contact.

For she has no eyes.

She mutters a few words to me "not all angels wear white, not all angels wear white....." over and over each time more aggressive.
Clambering back up to the window she grabs with an angry hand the spot and ash from the fireplace, leaving a black trail to the smashed glass on the floor under where she once sat.
She throws it with her when she jumps, falling feet and feet to a silver path leading out but stopping at a tree ripe with apples.
As i gaze down further, the sit has formed the words "but some do" on the pavement.
There's apples at her window now laid in a small box made of the finest oak, and in deep red are the words "apples are bitter too."

I never knew who the beautiful woman in red was, but i know that the faint scent of apples in the wind means i will not find harm.

For not all angels wear white, but not all demons want you.....