Inside her, there was a woman, still her body belonged to a man. Her soul chanted the softest tunes, but her voice rocked like a stone. She had locked all her manly clothes into a drawer deep down in her head and put on a glossy lipstick. As the night went on, she continued to swirl her hips, as if they were sips of a cult wine; allowing her surrounding to sniff and taste, but not to swallow. The darker it got, the more she danced; shadows broke off her spell and music spread her charm. Oh, hers was a twisted yarn.
In daylight, she had always felt like a mermaid; half woman, half fish.
The rays of sun dispersed the glamour of her tail and locked up her mythic beauty. The witch had given her the wrong pair of legs, her soul failed to stand on the land of men. So every night, she dressed up and shone, then quietly, turned back into a bubble.
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