[ WP ] I can not explain why I followed her .

Her dress caught my eye first. As the wind whipped it around her knees, it seemed to glisten gold, then pink, then blue, then gold. The skirt was full but the waist was tight, leading upward to a sleeveless bodice which shimmered black and gold. Her hair was twisted into a messy knot of tight curls at the back of her head, errant locks fluttering across her short, wide nose and high cheekbones. A hand reached up to tuck the escaped curls behind her ear, but the breeze gusted again and they were immediately loose. Her shoulders looked strong, her arms toned with muscle and covered in tiny, soft hairs. 
 
 She stepped onto a train I did n't need to take, but I leaped on anyway, pressing my own bulk into the throng of bodies on the car behind hers. I kept my eyes fixed on her through the connecting doors, watching the sunlight flick over her shoulder blades as we passed breaks in the foliage. The warm light lit up the golden tones in her dark skin, and it was as if she were made of precious metal trapped in iron ore. 
 
 After two stops, my car had emptied enough that I could make my way to the doors, hopping easily over the moveable mesh between cars and closer to her. By then she had been swayed and rocked to the interior wall, where she stood with her shoulder pressed casually against a glass window. Her car was empty; I wondered why she did n't sit. 
 
 I reached out a hand, hoping to tap her on the arm and talk to her, not knowing how I would explain my presence on a train heading the opposite direction of my home; but instead the train lurched to a stop and I was thrown bodily into her. We fell into the large handicap seats, me on top of her and scrabbling for a handhold that was n't her body so I could lift myself up and apologize. Somehow she got to her feet first, and I was left in the seat, gasping in both fatigue and embarrassment, staring up at her. 
 
 Her face was a portrait of disgust for about three seconds, seconds which felt like years and which etched their cruelty into my already fractured pride. But in the fourth second her face softened, and suddenly the darkness in her eyes was only their hue, not their intent, and she was beautiful once again. 
 
 I tried to stammer, to breathe, but could do neither in the wake of the vision bent over me. She reached out a hand to help me up, and the contact of our palms and fingers seemed to shock me out of my stupor. 
 
 Perhaps even literally. 
 
 In fact, could I even let go of her hand? 
 
 Suddenly I realized that my arm was both numb and frozen, trapped in her grip which was so light, so delicate, it did n't seem possible that she had such power over me. She reached out her other hand and brushed gentle fingers over my hip, and suddenly my legs were like lead beams bolted to the floor. I stared at my immobile limbs, struck numb with fright as smiled at me, so unassuming and innocent in her gaze that for one wild, desperate moment, I believed that she was unaware what was happening to me. 
 
 Her lips, painted a soft red and the stars of my fantasies only moments earlier, closed over her teeth and her smile became incrementally strained; had I not been staring with such wide eyes, I might not have noticed how they stretched or creased. When they parted again, they revealed not the teeth she had smiled with only seconds earlier, but long, thin, bony needles, protruding by the hundreds from her dark, bloody gums. I tried to open my mouth to scream but found my throat paralyzed and my tongue seized up, curled at the back of my mouth like it was the only part of me that could move farther away from her. 
 
 Her lower jaw dropped slowly, stretching past where a human should have been able to open her mouth. She loomed close to my breast and I knew she was going to literally rip my heart from my chest if I did n't move but I could n't move - I could n't move - I could n't - 
 
 *** 
 
 Her dress caught my eye first. As the wind whipped it around her knees, it seemed to shimmer, not gold or pink, but dark red, like it was wet with blood. The skirt was full but heavy, weighted down with liquid, and the tight waist and sleeveless bodice appeared to press and cling to her skin as if coated with something viscous and sticky. Her hair was twisted into a knot and clotted with dried blood. 
 
 I can not explain why I followed her.
