Everybody knows her name. But with beauty comes pain; with glamour comes tragedy. (440 words)
"Darling, don't you like what you see?"
She had no mouth to spill her words, but the sentiment flowed fluently through the air. She was BEAUTY; perfection incarnate. She was clearly doing the world a favor by gracing it with her presence.
He spoke—but she wasn't listening, as the stage wasn't his; it was hers.
"I may not be as flexible as some of the others, but my… constitution begets my beauty, not my acrobatics. Though, I can glide across the room, gracefully like a swan, quite swiftly."
She was the ideal of a superstar idol in physical form.
Her curves; flowing down her figure like the barking sea.
Her eyes; as verdant as emerald Amazonia.
Her hands; petite and shaped delicately like a work of art.
He spoke—but the stage wasn't his.
"Ah—tsktsktsk, I must address the obvious. I'd be nothing without my lovely, captivated audience. It's because of you that I have the freedom to do as I do. Some might call me a diva, and I wouldn't argue with them, I'd just prefer to use a word like… star!"
He spoke—but the stage wasn't his.
"It's performance art, really. The critics might say I stand around doing nothing all day, but that is far from the truth. My art is built on my blood, sweat, tears—and perhaps even more than that. It takes a lot out of me to do this, you know."
He spoke—but the stage wasn't his.
"Ah, I can see it in your face. Does it burn, my dear? Oh, I'm sure it does. To rest your eyes on such a specimen, it'd make anyone cry tears of joy. Worry not, I don't plan on stopping anytime soon!"
He spoke—but the stage wasn't his.
He cried—but the stage wasn't his.
He screamed—but the stage wasn't his.
And then he lowered the curtains—even though the stage wasn't his.
She looked at him with a feeling of betrayal in her soul, so intimate and intense, that she couldn't ignore it.
"I—darling, you… you no longer wish to watch my act? You…"
The voice in her mind started chattering.
"You—I'm spilling out my heart for you; my soul for you. This performance takes everything out of me and you'd just… look away? You'd avert your eyes from my wonder? I-I'm doing it for you. I'm doing it for you, and you'd… everything. It takes everything. And you… you…"
He had blinked—though the performance was for him.
And with that, in an impulsive fit driven on by jealousy, rejection, and rage, SCP-173 ran forward and snapped his neck.
"Oh dear…" She thought.
"That was rather rash of me."