Divine Night

“I could sleep ‘til eleven tomorrow,” I said, throwing myself across her bed, sprawling on her star-patterned comforter. Mary took a seat at her vanity, and I could see her eyes roll on her blue-painted face.

“Please,” she said, gathering some bottles around her. In her Corpse Bride costume she looked like a witch preparing ingredients for a spell. “We all know you’ll just stay up even later anyways.”

I merely laughed, reaching down to pluck a piece of candy from my stash. Shoving the chocolate-wafer goodness into my mouth, I stared up at her popcorn ceiling which told a story of its own. Or rather, many different stories. I found a different one every time, but tonight (early morning?) I replayed my recollection of us, squealing, running down the streets of her neighborhood in full Tim Burton dress, candy in one hand and hers in the other. 

A quiet humming roused me from my mental circus. I strained my eyes to glance in her direction. Mary sat, poised like a princess with her skirt plumed around her, delicately wiping off layers of makeup to reveal her fair skin beneath. Entranced, I watched as she transformed back into her everyday self, delicate lips humming a melody of her own making.

Seeing this side of her, being this close, felt like some sacred privilege that had been bestowed upon me at random. I averted my eyes, instead spying her abandoned bag on the ground and a familiar red wrapper sticking out.

I rolled off her bed and crouched by her stool. “Can I?” I asked, gesturing to her stash of candy. Her lips pulled into a smile, and she lifted her head in acknowledgement. I returned to her bed. From there, she looked like royalty on her wooden throne.