She's a killer queen.

She was always strong and quiet, and watching, but tonight was different. She'd been stunned by my saying that I liked her in the way I did, but I couldn't gather the words back into my mouth and kissed her instead. It was a very neat kiss, with her hand on the side of my face, so neat. She couldn't think of anything, she told me afterwards. Like when you've been punched, but you don't feel it straight away. There are a few seconds when the world turns a shade greyer, for you to realise, before the colour seeps back in. And then we went to the grass that was wet with next morning's dew and lay. And she lay her head on my cold chest, to warm it, in her make up- red lipstick round her eyes and a pale, pale face. I was made up the same. She always was pale, and long and thin. But tonight she looked wild and weird, and she felt harder than I had expected. She still wore the dregs of newspaper that I'd taped on earlier for costume. She said, "I want to keep you safe"- she was shivering now, with her tights round her ankles, "does that sound strange?", and I said, "no", but it did. This little shaking thing, wanting to keep me safe, when she couldn't keep herself sound and safe. I couldn't trust her as much as I had. She shuddered. The moment had gone. I let her kiss my nose and put her hand on my cheek, but in the morning, when she put her arm around me, I moved away despite the coldness of the stone slate floor.