solid gold, fourteen carat, barely burnished despite twenty years of hard molling. but beneath it, i knew, beneath that gold & stardust, she was all grit and sharp teeth gnashing, head twisting, talons out, tearing flesh.

make me queen

private, selective, independent blair waldorf.

or i'll make you bleed

you have to decide who you are, little girl, she told me once. once you know that, everyone else will too.

navigation

— she is her own weapon, how will you ever tell? // n.s. (via mavencalore) —

she lifts a wand of mascara,
leans into the mirror,
weaves threads of liquid onyx
between her thick eyelashes.

she sets it down,
selects a brush,
and her cheekbones glow sharp after.
has she used highlight,
or dusted them in mercury?

she uncaps her lipstick,
stains her lips sanguine,
and blows a kiss.
rose petaled, ruby-red,
coated in bold vermillion;
blood that has dried.

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