💃🕸️The Ballroom of the Wicked

 

In halls where twilight dares to gleam, And chandeliers drip molten dream, Two figures dance with perfect grace— No name, no past, no human face.

Their laughter rings in mirrored halls, Where every echo softly falls Like petals scorched by unseen fire, Or prayers betrayed by false desire.

The man, well-groomed, with eyes of glass, Steps lightly o’er the burning past. The woman’s smile—a gilded blade— Cuts silence where the truth once prayed.

Outside, the world begins to burn— The stars retreat, the heavens turn. Yet still they twirl, untouched, alone, Their beauty carved in polished stone.

No soul attends, no voice condemns— The ballroom holds their phantom hymns. But in the glass, a crack appears— A whisper born of buried years.

The mirrors weep, the floor grows cold, The chandeliers forget their gold. And still they dance, as shadows swell— Two perfect strangers, poised in hell.

The Wicked (Dual Portrait)

They arrive like perfume in a drought— a man and woman, flawless as marble. Their hands are soft, their nails immaculate, their laughter rehearsed in mirrors.

He wears a suit stitched from silence, a watch that ticks in reverse. She walks in heels that never touch the ground, her eyes rimmed with borrowed stars.

They speak in compliments that curdle, offer gifts that vanish by morning. No one knows their names—only their scent, lingering in ruined gardens.

🌊📖✨🪶📚🌀🕊️🎙️👣