Alexandra Kitty

 This is just a little taste of another anthology I am working on. It’s a period piece: a 1980’s punk opera composer just can’t get past a horrible case of writer’s block. 

This little scene doesn’t have him in it, but I thought it was an interesting passage to share: 

The hotel was always a good place to ensure both privacy and comfort. No self-pitying Elliot to contend with; no journalists to spin; and no swooning friends to enable. Nina was finally alone. Her world of one could be tended to without interruption. Nina studied herself in the mirror; she really was beautiful beyond reproach: she was nothing less than a comely and soft muse who could both freeze her prey with her intimidating radiance and melt them with her gentle sensuous charms. Nina could maintain dominance at all times: her prey’s primal emotions were hers to proficiently manipulate and control to her benefit. At no time could her marks regain their senses long enough to catch on to her complicated games. 

She extended her arms playfully above her head as she modeled her flawless and well-dressed physique to herself. No wonder Reese swooned and wrote brilliant and uncompromising punk operas about her and her philosophical dictates. She was as smart as she was gorgeous. She inspired her husband at his work and in the bedroom. She was perfect in every way but one. Why couldn’t she have an ounce of morals? 

Just one little piece would make a world of difference. No sick little mind games; no lust to drive her husband insane. Nina understood this deficiency in her soul, but only as a theoretical construct. Her soul could not begin to grasp the dangers and that’s what counted.