From afar, Margaret was of an indeterminate age. Her sleek
and soft grey hair – woven with peach and bits of white – alluded to maturity.
Youthful amber eyes that were always watching and always full of disdain would leave
you unsettled, feeling that she was merely looking through you, not at you.
Patient, she would sit for hours in a singular pose – but look
closer. Her eyes darted constantly, taking in the world, the room, and you.
Her voice, though rarely used, could cut through the silence
and startle those unfamiliar with her company. Used to getting her way, she spoke
loudly with a gravelly tone in an insistent and intimidating manner.
Prone to using her beauty to achieve her goals, slender and lithe,
she would sashay across the room, with no other purpose than to draw attention her
femininity and assert her control over others.
Cold and distant to most, even those who knew her longest, her
casual and indiscriminate drug use belied the careful demeanor she had built
up. Glimpses of her warmth and youth peeked through during these times and you
questioned your perception of Margaret.
But then she would shake it off, lick her tail and saunter
off. The moment had passed.
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