Word Count: 244
A morning like any other. Veela walked the hallways and tried not to notice the faces turned her way. Wide eyed wondrous faces, bodies lined up along the lockers like a ticker parade. She didn’t need to look at them, she could feel them.
She imagined them saying, “Look at her,” and “She’s so beautiful,” whispered behind their hands. Envy in their eyes, desire at the tip of their tongues, some flushed red with yearning. Every body turned towards her, like the inimitable force of gravity.
She’d never known it any other way.
Girls mirrored her, emulating her long curled hair, her dark lined eyes, her lace scarves.
Boys desired her, fingers seeking to grasp at her flesh, press her lips, she saw their naked want so strong it could have suffocated her if she was a weak person. A vain person.
Everywhere she went, each person she encountered, every living thing leaned in her direction seeking her sun.
The tragedy: they stole something of her with each glance. Unbeknownst to her they fed upon her essence. Not taking much, nothing she was likely to notice missing. A crumb of sense. A moment of lucidity. A second of breath, but all added together throughout her years, subtracting from her soul breaking her down bit by bit to a being of raw emotion, to a thing reduced to its basic elements.
To a thing of horror.