imagine red : imagine she,  against the day’s light,    her form a  SHADOW  save for the scarlet hue of her hair.     in the silence,    & the tick - tocking of the clock,    there is the part of her lips,    the silken strands of smoke that flow past with breath to fade into the air between them.     THERE IS SHE,   & there is her guest   ----   the artificial envisioning of a woman,    not unlike the mirror in reverse of the woven folk in koschei’s factories.    how this intrigues her  :  TO BE ALIVE,    yet wanting to slough off one’s own skin to reveal perhaps a mechanical heart,    lungs hooked by wire,    a stomach of gears & screws.    [ HOW PECULIAR. ]

❝    I HAVE NEVER HAD ANY REASON TO.    ❞     the cigarette comes to its end & disintegrates into silver ash in the tray upon the onyx table top that rests between the two.   natalia’s gaze is fixed on that of the other’s,    the way a predator entertains the stare of a prey that would challenge her.    BUT ANGELIKA IS NO PREY,   & there is no challenge here.    except for one,    laid unspoken  :  [ HAVE YOU DRAWN THE LINE BETWEEN REAL & UNREAL ?  WHERE DO YOU STAND,  WOMAN ? ]     she leans forward,    arms crossed & elbows pressed to the table   --   the tsaritsa imposes,    & grins.

❝    & you ?    have you been deceived into believing yourself to be an average creature ?    ❞