Thanatos tempers in front of the glass door.
That floats in that huge and vast empty area.
Everything is so hollow that the echo of the air itself is born.
The door seems to be nailed to the sigh that slides down from her round rosy buttoned lips and it's lost in that nothingness.
She, tight in her own skin, lets the desire to uncover that Pandora's box vibrate.
«If even I touched it would...change something?».
Her bare feet tremble, that senseless white seems to absorb she.
Low, low, low. Slowly, with Insane patience. It devours she.
But it's just a mental barrier to which she has clung.
With nails she wants to uncork that void until she becomes, piece to piece, a grain of nothing.
But she can't, because it's made of skin.
The knob of that crystalline surface -from which nothingness appears- sighs, it swells with oxygen and, deflating, it doesn't release any curl of carbon dioxide.
Takes, steals, claims...but doesn't reciprocate.
«How greedy you are. What choices did you make to get this result?» Thanatos whispers, the thread of his words stretches like string and copies two turns around the neck of the knob.
The glass door feels a shiver along its molecules.
The knob stops stealing oxygen, it mean to glare at she.
«You don't have weird thoughts...» The scolds the knob, harsh «I am absolutely satisfied».
Thanatos lets his hand fall along the naked side, her knees converge towards her gender and make her tumble out of her balance.
The void fills with noise, the bones against nothing reverberate cawing.
«Are...are you satisfied?» Her voice is a whisper, dry and incredulous. Rancorous.
The knob grins, shaking off an apparent group of dust.
«Exactly!» Austere, it swells with pride.
Thanatos trembles, a non-existent cold makes chains on his wrists. It scratches them and impresses them with their shape.
«Tell me how! Tell me what choices you made to achieve this satisfaction» She pleads, vivid with shame on that frosty empty.
The glass door seems to thicken. The knob becomes minute.
A pang in her chest tears a saturated moan. That cry spreads over that damn skin in a frivolous loop.
«You aren't worthy of licking drops that the sun loses by itself. Vain soul!» The knob encircles itself with often horror.
«You are made of skin, What are you looking for in a brass future?».
Thanatos he feels that skin growl, fervent with anger.
«I look for warmth of waxed lips».
She gives in to silence and opens the door.