The Black Violin
by Elizabeth TwistMarch 23, 2017
Helene takes two vows on her wedding day, equally rotten.
The first is private. Midnight crossroads. Chanted words. The scent of brimstone. Cherry red skin and horns in a gentleman's suit. Negotiation. A cold kiss to seal agreement.
The second, at bright noon, under a cherry blossom cascade. Alphonse's lewd smile. His thrusting tongue.
Wedding night, his drunken hands, tearing fabric, tearing her. When she opens her eyes, the violin sits on the chair in the corner.
"Can I play for you?" she asks.
Her hands tremble. Brimstone notes. Alphonse's feet twitch.
She plays, eternal in her stained dress. He dances, feet worn down to stumps.
About Elizabeth Twist
Elizabeth Twist is a speculative fiction writer living in Hamilton, Ontario. Her stories have appeared in Dark Faith: Invocations, Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus, and Suction Cup Dreams. Find her on Twitter @elizabethtwist.