She was a very elegant woman. And she knew it, that’s why she walked in such a fashion with her head high above the clouds. Well, she had her head high partially because of the huge ornament on top of it, partially because she didn’t knew any other way to look at life that wasn’t under her own eyelashes. She was always dressed in black, head to toe, and it looked so good that she resembled the night itself. And she wasn’t precisely the tallest, or her breast weren’t the biggest, nor she had wide hips or any of those things...she looked simpler, her silhouette was only a whisper of the entire answer. On top of that she was wearing a long sleeveless jacket that ended where the long skirt began, of an opaque fabric that felt soft to the touch , and it covered the entirety of her legs and some of the sidewalk she was walking on. Her hair was a little rebel, like in most days and nights, like she just woke up from a nap, and the ornament on top of her head (a couple of huge goat horns with some black coloured feathers) served as a not so discreet way to conceit her mane. Somehow, it made the whole outfit look threatening and powerful, and likeable if you took it as some sort of crazy fashion statement.

For those that could see her, nonetheless, it wasn’t such an encouraging vision. No one welcomed it with a smile and open arms.

Not like they did with Him.

Anyways, she continued walking calmly, observing the darkened windows of the neighborhood until she perceived in the distance a particular house, with all its lights on. Like a moth drawn to it, she walked towards the light and her mission finally began:

The wooden floors had an interesting scent, it felt fresh, and the doors were particularly tall , so she didn’t had to lower her head to come thru even with all the stuff that was on top of it. She didn’t felt any kind of fascination or surprise to see tons of mirror filled walls or the excessively complex christmas decorations, even if it still was in the middle of november. After the small lobby and living room there was a hall that guided to a series of very steep stairs to the next floor.

She went up there then, while fixing her eyes every now and then on the set of pictures put together to the side wall. It was a common nuclear family, for her, everyone was frail and peaky, with the same snobish face, freckles, brown shiny small eyes filled with ambition. A dog over there, another one over another frame, some pictures of adult versions of the same children with robes and graduation caps.

She let out a sigh, continuing her way up the stairs, and when she was almost done, she heard a female voice filled with hysteria, giving accelerated instructions of something and asking for help at the same time to someone that didn’t seem to give her any sort of response. Maybe she was talking on the phone. When She turned right to the hall, she effectively found a set of half opened doors of every room , as well as every light on and noise of whispering somewhere along that space.

The first room she passed was a small sized space with a small bed in which a young girl slept. A man of mature age caressed her back with a certain nervious touch. She just ignored the scene and continued on walking. Next scenario was just a bathroom , she didn’t give too much thought to it and went on. In the next room, dark walls of a different colour and minimalistic decor, with a big king size bed, rushed sheets all messy, probably from the sleeping couple jumping out when the shitshow started. After this, the hall turned right again to a couple more rooms.

Before the first new door of this recently discovered section was a very elegant small table with nothing more on top than a little piece of fabric, some framed pictures and a vintage wired phone, that was more than decoration since it was being used.

The user was a young woman with a long pink robe of a really pale velvety texture and a scarred gesture all over her pale face, an omen of bad news, swallowing and talking with a weaker voice, giving away the address of their current position. The woman was pretty, she let herself feel a bit sorry for her...but just a little bit. The door immediately next to her was closed, but the last one was opened, a few feet over there, with a dim light spilling over the burgundy walls.

She pushed the door a bit to go thru it, and lowered her head a bit just as a sort of salutation out of politeness. The scene before her in this new room would have been devastating for most, but for her it was a common thing, a day to day thing, so much that it had made her insensitive to the whole issue:

A woman of a very advanced age but somehow quite elegant and composed cried silent tears while one of her hands, perfectly manicured, caressed delicately the extremely pale forehead of a man that was a similar age of hers. His face was completely void of any expression.

Finally.

A sigh.

She walked towards the bed and could notice that, for an instant suspended in time, the elderly woman seemed to tense up and look thru the room with wider eyes in alert. Just for a moment. She didn’t paid any attention, things like that tended to occur sometimes, there were some sensitive enough to feel her presence, others could even see her entirely, but this woman didn’t seem like a threat.

Coldly, she bent over the dead body and stretched her hand, of black long nails, over his chest, and without any sort of effort, like it was nothing, she dipped her whole hand inside. It wasn’t like a horror movie bloody thing, it literally looked like his chest was made of liquid and she could just put her hand inside like water. When she got it out, her fingers were wrapped around an orb shaped object, shiny like a pearl, and the air around it felt warm. And like if it was made of a the most fragile material there was, she crushed it in her fist and the dust of the pearl floated around her for a moment while her nails changed suddenly from black to red. Shiny, warm red.

She waved her fingers in front of her own face and looked at her new nail polish, and in the corner of her eyes she felt elderly woman look straight into her direction, with wide eyes like plates and her jaw coming down in a silent scream. That made her feel a bit vulnerable, but she conceited the feeling very well with a bitter smile, turning around making a cool pose, thinking fast into something cryptic to say to defend her classic good image of the eternal carrier of bad news:

“I’ll come for you in a few years. See ya around Ma’am”

Then the silent scream became a true terror one.

She enjoyed this sometimes. No, she always did, it made her feel like a demon, like an evil specter, and with long elegant steps she went out of the room at the same time the pretty chick in the pink velvet robe came in running followed by the man from before. She dodged them without being noticed, and could hear in the back of the room as she abandoned it , the elderly woman screaming like mad, assuring she just had seen the devil take something from her deceased husband.

It felt like in a movie, floating in space, and she allowed herself to dance a bit while coming down the stairs, slowly, singing that Simple Minds song, imagining all the drama of the final scene of a movie, the credits, the slow motion, she as a protagonist…

Yes, definitely.

Death was a very elegant woman.

To be continued in II.
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