Jagged cuticles were a proscenium for your uneven black fingernails as they carved into the moldy, heather colored paint on the door frame. The threshold groaned, and chips and splinters gathered in a pile around your red four-inch high heels. There was a smile on your lips, and even though they were some strange tinge between seafoam and blood, it was beautiful.
I gathered you up. My arms cradled you against my bare, frostbitten chest, and the laces of my boots sounded like mice skittering across the tile floor. Taken away from the whittling, your claws, dripping with your own blood, started to dig lovingly into the flesh on my shoulders. I didn't mind the pain. You were still smiling.
The floor cracked, growing lines like spider webs on every heel strike until we made our way through the towering French doors that led us into the orchard. Frozen dew shook from the overgrown grass, clovers, and dandelions as you and I strode through them, stumbling gracefully among the broken trees, c