She dripped with rubies, I drowned in emeralds.
I'm surprised she isn't blinded by the flashing of my eyes, cat's eyes glowing in the dark with the light of a thousand refracted jealousies. Wine slid past her lips, absynthe poured out of my throat. In the form of words, I am as playful, flirtatious and romantic as can be. My tongue is the little green fairy. But my stomach burns with the acid from the sickly limes that have somehow filled me to the brim with their bitterness.
Her dress is made from rose petals touched by the hands of princesses, blooming and filling the sun-drenched air with their gorgeous scent.
Mine is made from bile, squashed by violent men into something resembling satin.
Rich, red blood flows through her veins, but my cold heart pumps nothing but glittering, hideous malice around my body. It spurs me on and fills me most holy, envious, purest jealousy.