Lips coated a dark red, my thoughts turn to my Mister Gray…not Christian silly, but Dorian, obviously!
Different spelling to start with, and some might say chalk and cheese – one is a controlling petulant child, the other a perverted hedonist at best and a heinous monster at worst.
But this woman hankers after depravity, soul corrupting activities – high society or opium dens, ultimately sin needs to be witty – clever repartees and mundane subjects debated in all seriousness is only the beginning of it.
Sin also has to originate in the right setting for a woman of aesthetic delicacy: Jade figurines, heady scents emanating from opulent gardens, gigantic purple orchids, languishing cigarette smoke tarnishing ancient tapestries and long-fringed silk Persian rugs, old brocades, delicate and intricate French lace…the list is endless.
The luminous face that never ages, purity etched on it ever so gracefully while far away from prying eyes a portrait sustains every line, every selfish deed, sweat, tears and fears, every drop of blood spilled in the pursuit of immediate gratification and the never-ending search for new emotions.
The only consideration: the Self.
Dear Dorian, you were the first to teach me there is no-one more cold, nobody more evil and yet seductive, than a true narcissist.
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