Exquisite

Exquisite. Lace me up until breathing is a chore, ribs screaming under the restraints of beauty, and I'll breathe in a little more. Tighter, smaller, make me fragile. Make me look like my every breath is a heave of passion, like the event is much more exciting than it will be. Put your hands around my waist. You're not done until your fingers touch. Pain. Crushing, burning pain, and I can no longer breathe. There...lovely. Slip reams of silk, itching petticoats of ruffled chiffon, ribbons wound round and round onto me; drown my painstakingly altered form in layers of expensive, unimpressive fabric. Colors to match the ornaments in my hair, my perfect hair. Yank sections to be coiled into a flawless coiffure. Pile my hair so high that I'll tower, looming over the pudgy men who beg to dance with me, but keep me dainty. Fragile, remember. Breakable.