Feather | Oscar de la Renta 22-Karat Gold-Plated Collar Necklace

They found her crouched in the corner of a dark alley, her golden eyes sunken, twisting and smoothing a raven’s feather over and over in her hands. She was naked and covered in the dirt of the earth she ran through for her escape. They stood over her destitution and hauled her off the ground. And with her head hanging low, she walked with them to the car.

The agents drove her back to headquarters. It was a building made with mirrored walls, making it almost invisible to the suspicious eyes flying overhead. During the drive, Furie kept her face hidden behind her long, dark, tangled hair; she hid the glint in her eyes and her snide grin.

They locked her in a glass cell, and she once again resumed her crouched position in the corner. Agents, superiors, doctors, and scientists, all sworn to secrecy, were brought to the cell to examine her, to try to figure her out. But she kept stroking the feather, stroking the darkness, the night.

During the nights, her golden eyes would burn with the flames of revenge. She kept twisting and smoothing the raven’s feather, twirling it around her finger to create a spiral of blackness. And when the feather was finally good and twisted, she entwined it with the lock of hair at the nape of her neck.

The next morning, she was gone. And the agents found her again in the alley, crouched, stroking an eagle’s feather. With the night on her shoulders and justice in her hands, she would smite all who looked down on her; beginning with the monsters in the alley.


(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)

Twinkle Toes | Giuseppe Zanotti Crystal-Embellished Satin Ballerina Flats

The hardwood floor was slick on the stage. It called for movement. It wanted to feel those pleasurable vibrations. The muffled sound of hundreds of voices came sneaking under the heavy velvet curtains. Then it turned quiet as the lights faded out and the curtains pulled back. The light chiffon flowed softly like gossamer, in a melange of colors in the background, as the ballerina took her first steps.

One step, then two, then many. A turn, more turns, sliding, and leaping. The more she danced, the more her toes began to shine. She twirled and she slowed. Lifted her legs high up in the spotlight. Her fingers playing with the air that couldn't play with her hair. More and more she shone as it spread from her toes to her thighs, to her bosom and to her eyes.

Her movements were so fluid and so sharp that it made the audience's eyes sting. They were captivated by her. This gem. Jewel. A diamond. A diamond that melted onto the hardwood floor as the music came to an end. The velvet curtains fell over the silhouette dancing along the waves of the chiffon, over the puddle of glittering oil now spilling off the stage. And applaud ensued.


(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)

Jealousy | Christopher Kane Gel-Collared Shirt

Oh how you mock me. You silly thing, constantly swimming around my neck, around my breasts, around my knees. You curse. A murdered form of creation that I am nary saved from. I can feel you snake your way through the tangles of my auburn hair, trying to dig your way into my skull. But you shall not have your way, I say. I am no Medusa. I do not turn men to stone. I will not turn men to stone. If I must, I will gouge my eyes out and be blinded for all eternity. But I will not turn men to stone. They are a decent people. Every one is born decent, I hope. Oh how could you exist. And since you do exist, why do you exist with me. There is a whole universe out there for you, you harbinger of doom. The filthy things you bring, like oily seaweed in a virgin pool. My skin is smooth, not spiked. My eyes are round, not thin. Quit that choking. Your strangling is an innocent man's noose. I will not be controlled by you, you, you, shoo!




(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)

Doll | Siri Tollerod in Miu Miu SS12

The shelves were laden with dust and glitter. Powder of various colors patching the floor looked like obsolete portals. Abandoned, forgotten strings lay over counter along with the ribbons that were never tied and the eyes that were never alive. Shards of glass were left dangerously on the floor from when the bulbs blew out, and the unhinged doors were taped over, warning the people of the world not to enter.

Two flew in, their wings flittering fast behind them. Their feet dangled daintily several feet above the ground. With eyes like green neon lasers, they scanned the room for their prize.

"You sure it's here?" the one asked.

The other replied, "If Her Daisiness said so, it should be. Let's clean it up a bit, maybe we'll find something then."

They hovered further into the room, grabbing handfuls of dust in the pouches tied on their belts. They blew the dust out of their open palms and let the past take over. The sparkling dust clouded the whole room, reversing time. The shards of glass rose and fit perfectly around the glowing tungsten wire. Strings and ribbons rejoined their original rolls. The ancient den became a bijou establishment. But the eyes were as dead as ever.

"There she is!" the other pointed.

In the corner of the room, head lodged sideways, was a doll. It was fit for the hands of a four year young girl. It's dress was as prim as it's socks and patent shoes. The lips were perfectly formed for a kiss. As the one and the other approached, her eyes came alive. The black beads rolled in their capsules, looking upon those fluttering towards her. They bowed down.

"This is the one, I am the other. We come to you for the seeds of life."

The doll spoke, "The seeds of life cannot be given. They must be taken." With that, the doll closed her eyes.

The two looked at each other and summoned their blades from the energy surrounding them. They cut the doll in two, pulled her limbs from the sockets, and finally, carved out her eyes. After removing the black beads from the capsules, they skinned the beads to reveal the crimson seeds underneath. The one and the other each took a seed of life, and zipped out of the dusty room as if they were never there.

After time was restored, the doll's remains were stashed in the corner, but her broken eyes joined the rest on the counter, next to a jar full of black beads meant to replace the ones that were taken.

(photo via Vogue.com)

Baby | Valentino Swarovski Crystal-Embellished Bib Necklace

It was a happy day, a glorious day, for the birth of a royal. The sun was bright and the blueness of the sky was unmatchable. Behind the castle, the garden flourished with spring's new blossoms and colored the grass with patches of pink and yellow. Attendees rushed in and out of the King and Queen's bedroom for hot water and towels while the rest of the royal family waited in nervous anticipation. Screams that escaped the room (when attendees left the door ajar) made the young royal cousin William widen his eyes in fear of the monster that was about to arrive.

She was a tiny specimen of life, blessed with riches and the joys that accompanied such wealth. Cradled in the new mother's arms, she tested the movements of her tiny fingers and her tiny toes. Her eyes were big and blue, and her parents looked down on her with the same gentle eyes. Smiles and tears burst into the room as the royal family was introduced to the tiny princess. Even cousin William was curious--climbing onto the Queen's bed to get a closer look. "William!" his mother sharply whispered when he stuck his tongue out at the baby. But much to the happiness of the King and Queen, the princess laughed at it.

It was presented to her on her first birthday. The princess was growing up to be pretty and darling (and less messy), so the King and Queen decided to give her a beautiful jeweled bib. It glistened in the light and spotted the princess' face with stars.

There was one foggy night when the clouds misted over the castle and spooked the forest animals back into their caves.  On this night, a young teenage girl swung her legs over the balcony railing and snuck into the King and Queen's bedroom, where the princess also slept in her cot, with the jewel bib around her neck. The girl stood over the princess with her hands on her waist, contemplating how she would take the bib away. The bib certainly was not mere candy, and this was going to be harder than she thought, for the clasp was behind the baby's neck. Reaching down, she scooped the princess into her arms. She gave a small sigh as the princess still slept on. She then removed the bib and carefully placed the princess back into the cot.

A chill had snaked its way up the King and Queen's legs from the open door and they woke. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" the King asked the girl with a slight panic in his voice. He worried for his baby girl. "Don't worry dad," she replied with a grin, "You'll see me again soon." She ran out the door, hopped over the ledge, and disappeared into the mist with the bib. The King and Queen rushed over to the cot to check on the princess, only to find her sound asleep, breathing as easily as she ever would.

(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)

Old Friend | Acne Macy Ombre Leather Biker Jacket

Old friend, there are so many things I wish I could say to you. There were times you made me so happy. I frolicked in the field of your presence and I would do anything for mere seconds of those moments. We would smile together, laugh together, and be with each other just because the company was worth it. But unfortunately I didn't mean as much to you as you did to me. And those little speckled moments of happiness are now shadowed by my wish to have never met you. It's one thing to care.. But to make me care so deeply for you.. And when I needed you.. You weren't there. I was so angry. I am still angry. My heart burns with this anger. I can literally feel my chest heat up at the thought of you. And I wish it would stop, before my heart becomes naught but ashes. You hurt me so. And even now when you're gone, I feel dead and broken. I've cried before. But never like this. These are waterfalls. And they fall every night and at any waking minute when your memory is revived. I'm sorry. I broke my promise. There is a crimson line for you now. It's not because of you. It's not your fault that it's my weakness. But I know I will eventually get over this. One day, I'll be okay, when I stop remembering you. I was your friend, but I was never yours. And there are no more chances for me to give you. This sadness can only last for so long. The blackness will take over soon.


(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)

Creation | Fei Fei Sun in Bottega Veneta SS12

I live in the core of this planet and I swim in the magma deep below you.

If I touch you, you will burn.
If I taste you, you will shine.

Like the diamonds that draw blood and sparkle, they will hate you, but they will want you anyway. I can turn you into the most dangerously beautiful gem in the universe. The rich will wear you while you wear the poor. And eventually, you will be cut down to so many pieces that you no longer exist as a whole. You will be nothing but fragments, scattered all over the globe. The meaningless shards and dust will be buried in the sand. The priceless jewelry and cane toppers will be buried in the vaults. You will be hidden, stolen, and exposed for all the purposes of greed, envy and love. In the beginning, you loved me for making you famous, and you gratified me with your hardened kisses and burning eyes. You made yourself my best friend and stayed with me until they took you away and cut you. Perfection. They wanted perfection. And they wanted you. You were perfect to me. My creation. But you let them cut you and shape you and I no longer recognize you. All I see are bits and pieces that can never be gathered together again. Lost, are you? You know who you are. And you chose to break down. It is useless to retrace your steps, for you will never be whole again. Explore the world you've been scattered in. Revel in the riches and beauty. Change the fate of the hopeless.

And maybe one day, when all your pieces are buried too deep, you will let me taste you again.

(photo via Vogue.com)

AA | Karlie Kloss in Dolce and Gabbana SS12

"Hi, my name's Monday," she said euphorically. Her voice was high and her demeanor was astoundingly bubbly for such an intense meeting of rehabbers. This was her first time in a meeting-in-the-basement scene and she lit up the dungeon with her silent admiration of the new.

"Tell us more about yourself, Monday," the therapist nudged.

"Um, well," she giggled, "I'm the daughter of a very rich businessman who has no time for family and a very dead stripper who used to rule the red light district. My nanny drowned my kitten in the river by the family bungalow because she disapproved of it being in my company. I always had a passion for singing but my father threatened to have my voice box removed if I did not work to take over the company instead."

Everyone in the room was stunned, including the therapist, whose mouth seemed unable to close. However, Monday just smiled at the people in the circle and seemed unfazed by the exposure of the intimate details of her personal life.

When the therapist recovered, she almost feared to ask the girl "Why are you here?" but she asked anyway, and Monday's smile did not falter in her response: "I don't know the feeling of pain. I don't know what it's like to be hurt. My life, to others, seems to affect them so, and I don't understand why. It mildly upsets me, but I can't help it: I'm always happy."

She looked at all the stunned faces with her bright eyes and released herself from the chair. As she walked to the centre of the circle, she continued her speech. "It appears as though I have no care in the world, even though I do. I want to be able to show that I have a heart. I want to share it; this happiness that I cannot get rid of, yet choose to now give away." And with that, she cut out her heart. Scarlet roses bloomed as the yellow daisies wilted.

When her heart was gone and her body was left on the floor, the rehabbed clambered up the stairs from the basement to the real world, each with a rose bud tucked between their lips, to be swallowed and never seen again.

(photo via Vogue.com)

Gleam | Lais Ribeiro in Oscar de la Renta SS12

The sunlight bridged into his room from beyond the ozone. Why're the bloody blinds drawn? he thought. Pulling the covers over his head, he turned away from the blinding rays and retreated back into the darkness. He found himself in the middle of wars, in between tsunamis and cities. Things were turning onto themselves. Americans slashed Americans. Terrorists bombed terrorists. Waves crashed against each other. People ran away from themselves.

When the sun was at a prime position and Faer couldn't sleep anymore, he awoke with a glare. There was someone in his room; someone standing by the window; someone capturing the sun's rays, someone with her eyes on him.

She did not speak. She only looked, watched, saw. But somehow, he had an understanding, and he could almost imagine what she was trying to say:

There is nothing you can call me. I can only be seen. Your other senses are not aware of me.


He tried to describe her. She was like a gleam of light reflecting off the mirror within him.

She smiled. And disappeared.

Slightly disoriented, Faer went to the washroom to splash water on his face. Looking up in the mirror he saw infinity, and he was disapproving of the future.

Shit I'm gonna be late, he thought. He took a shot of Listerine and grabbed his bag off the floor, stuffing his History essay and pens into its pockets. Stumbling towards the door he pulled on his sneakers and ran out the door in his pajama pants and college hoodie.

(photo via Vogue.com)

Collector | Model in Mary Katrantzou SS12

You can find her skulking about any corner and strutting down every street. She'll be watching and feeling and tasting your secrets. There is no one hidden from her intents, her spies invade your very mind and extract the things she needs. She relishes in your lusts and your passions and swallows the weirdest fetishes. You are no stranger to her lips. Your dreams are of her making; your nightmares of her undoing. The monsters you fear are fragments of her evil mind and the angels you create are pieces of her heart. For her survival, she must feed off you. She takes your past and eats your memories. She enjoys creating troubles in your present so she can slurp up the frustrations and the whining and the complaining and the cutting. Your future is for her eyes, and she controls the possibilities; she cannot let you have more than what she can take. Her teeth shine in the black night behind crimson lips, waiting, always waiting, for the perfect moment to dig themselves into your skin.

She is a collector.

And the more you have, the more she will take.


(photo via Vogue.com)

Ginger | Saskia de Brauw in Diane von Furstenburg SS12

The backyard was so inviting, so verdant, that it claimed the company of the sun. She was on her back, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, tackled by the two children whom she so painfully bore and joyfully raised. They were twins--the girl donned a white dress fit for frolicking and had ginger locks that smoothly flowed from her petite head; the boy had chocolate smeared around his thin lips and ginger hair just like his sister's, but shorter.

"Oh no, you got me!" their mother cried out. Giggles and laughter ensued.

The smell of chocolate chip cookies curiously misted out of the house into the backyard, and the boy grinned so wide the cheshire cat would be put to shame. He pulled his mother's hand as his sister ran towards their grandmother with the plate full of bits of heaven.

"Go ahead sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute," his mother said with a smile.

Letting go of her hand, he sprinted back to the house, and disappeared behind the door.

When no one else was in sight, she stumbled back to her feet, arms holding herself together, palms rubbing against her skin. In the heat, she felt the chill, and she wondered desperately what her husband was doing. Futilely restraining herself, she began to sob as she thought of him fucking someone else, (when in actuality, he was in the hotel bathroom, shaving the blonde hair clear off his scalp.)

"You coming mommy?" the little girl shouted.

"Yes angel!" the mother shouted in return, successfully hiding the breaks in her voice.

She wiped the tears off her cheeks and turned around with a smile at the sight of her little girl with chocolate on her lips. But inside she kept the battle between regret and contentment, of the thing she committed circa four years and nine months ago.


(photo via Vogue.com)

Mermaid | Pearl Spine/Chanel SS12

Washed up on the shores of the city lay an unconscious woman. Having drifted in from the open ocean, the young man who found her was puzzled. As he cautiously approached her, he was introduced to the alien beauty of the young Jane Doe. He laid his head on her chest, trying to listen to her heart. The beats were unusual, but nevertheless there. The gentleman, clad in aged black denim jeans and a wrinkled white shirt topped with an undone black bow tie, was taking a walk, away from his family home; he was trying hard not to think about the loss. Upon discovering the mermaid on the sand, he became befuddled, and his family was nary on his mind at all. As he looked closer and closer, admiring the sadness on her face, she opened her eyes. Staring into the azure irises, he became aware of the lack of space between them and helped her sit up. He felt the pearls that trailed down her spine, from the nape of her neck down to the small of her back, where flesh ended, and magic began. When she spoke, he heard the sound of bubbles bursting underwater. She kissed him with silver lips and bid the tide to rise. When her tail was submerged, it glowed in the magnificent way an aurora does. Pulling him along into the water and swimming deeper into the caverns of the sea, she took him away.

(photo via AnOthermag.com)