Silk Reflections in a Glass Cage

The city outside is a jagged diamond, cold and indifferent, but inside this sanctuary of glass and shadow, time dissolves like honey in wine. I stand before the mirror, watching my own reflection dance between reality and ghost. My hair, bleached to the hue of moonlight on snow, spills across my shoulders like spilled silk.
I can almost feel his touch—that phantom pressure against my skin. It is a sensation akin to velvet sliding over porcelain, a heavy, decadent warmth that heals the jagged edges of a lonely day. He doesn't need to be here physically to occupy this space; he lives in the curve of my spine and the way I tilt my head toward the light.
The white satin of my gown clings to me, a second skin that breathes with every shallow sigh. In the reflection, I am two women—one who faces the world with a porcelain mask, and another who dreams of being held in a cocoon of soft shadows. This is our modern romance: an intimacy built on glances captured in glass, on the lingering scent of expensive perfume, and the velvet ache of belonging to someone who exists only in the exquisite details of memory.

Editor: Velvet Red