Porcelain

Porcelain

by Gabriel

She's porcelain; white, brittle always cool to touch. Fingers as delicate as this material, with glass fingernails ending in milky crescents, knuckles making hard angles. She turns into it when mad, mouth pinched and features bleached, a threat in her make that she'll splinter apart if you don't handle with caution, split into stinging fragments in all that she is perfectly still, composed, together. It isn't big eyes and small body that make her into the doll people think she is, but the fact that when she breaks, she'll slice you to ribbons going down, that turns her into china.

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