pale gold nails traced black lines, of which cut through visible veins in her wrist, held together by nearly invisible stitches. the skin had long since scarred, leaving the impression of a hand sewed onto an arm.
pale gold scars, covering every inch of her body, glowed - they pulsed, they followed her heartbeat. were they burning again?
pale gold hair fell over red-lined eyes, black makeup dried, long since staining pale white skin, glowing pale gold.
it was all pale gold.
gold.
gold.
gold.
a shaky breath broke the silence of the pitch bathroom. how had she never seen these scars?
they were everywhere. why were there so many. there were too many. too many stitches. too many black lines.
where did they come from?
her scars pulsed. were they teasing her?
"look how your skin has blemished, how freakish you look! how does it feel? to be marked so horrifically? people will stare, you know!"
her breath trembled. her ears rang. the music was so loud, yet so muffled. what was happening?
"look, now - stare at us," they sang, "and remember that you will never be as pretty as you used to be! we are a monument to your failures, to your weakness, to your pain - gaze upon us and cry, for there is nothing you can possibly do."
her tongue must have been bleeding at this point, she had dug her fangs into it so much. pale gold hair fell over a trembling fame, dressed in gold, head shaking.
"and look - where did we come from? do you remember? tell us, golden sun, do you remember what happened to you? that night you went into that grove, do you remember when you failed your friends, your husband, your -"
"Xena?
are you alright?
you've been in there a while..."
glassy eye widened - panicked breath hitched, pale gold hair bristled.
"...ye- yeah! I'm okay. just...give me a minute, dust."
silence.
a shaky inhale.
a rustle, pale gold nails pulling long, fluffy hair back - out of her eye.
"I'm okay."
