Wicked Beauty

            I stood silently trapped in hypnotism as the beckoning figure spun round and round on its dainty feet. The girl's lengthy, golden hair leapt out from her slightly timid body and latched onto the biting wind. Her dress, in its false whiteness, sprung out at her pale knees creating a rough circle of folded lines and loose creases. Her bare toes danced on the earth, not disturbing a single blade of grass. Her eyes where icy and cold, yet they were deep. They were deep like an abyss that would take pleasure in drowning anyone who so dared to look far into it. In her pleasant and admirable presence, I felt as though she carried honor, pride, and an odd carelessness. The figure was beauty.
            Closer as I got, the ground on which she spun turned cold. The wind that shot from her hair and skirt, chilled my skin and bones in a gust. I began to realize her ambition when I saw her abyssal eyes lock with mine once more on turn. The figure had managed to torture me with manipulation. I had been fooled. In shame, my feet turned, disturbing the blades of grass below me, and directed my body to leave the false and dangerous site. I left the dancing, wicked beauty alone in her deceit.