La Dama Muerte

Oh yes, Dorian was always a photogenic boy. He had never taken a bad picture, not once in his life. On March 22, 2008, he saw the most extraordinary thing other than himself. A woman was walking the streets of L.A, with a black lace veil covering her face. He fumbled with his camera, zooming in as close as he could. He caught her whole figure in the picture and he clicked. He had a satisfied smirk on his face and paced around the roof of his apartment building so the picture could upload. His breath was cut short.

Dorian’s friend Mark strolled up to the roof and closed the big metal door behind him. He was unaware of his presence until Mark gasped when he saw the picture. They both stood in the Spring/Winter, air their breath fogging the air, completely scared of the picture held in the digital camera. “Dude, how did you do that?” Mark finally asked.

The veiled woman was looking up right at the camera with the deadliest eyes any one could encounter. Both of the boys weren’t sure if they were even eyes. They had absolutely no color, but the iris was outlined by a visible black. The people around the woman were blurred, but not her. She was clearly visible in the photo and her white eyes and white chin were the only things visible. Why where they so scared of the photo?

“Another odyssey other than Dory,” Mark said grinning. But Dorian didn’t like any of this. A hint of jealousy was written in his large blue disks. The corner of his velvet lips twitched unnoticeably. His hair whisked annoyingly into his face but he didn’t notice that either. There was another beautiful person in the world. Possibly more beautiful than him. He huffed and turned to his friend. “Don’t we have a party to go to?”

Mark shrugged then his eyes widened. “Dude! I think that girl in your picture was Hannabelle Muerte!”

“Hannabelle Muerte?” Dorian asked and lifted an eyebrow.

“She’s like, the most famous yet least known woman in the world,” Mark exclaimed. Mark sighed at his pathetic attempt to describe her. “She always covers her face and she is not known by the public. Only elite celebrities know her and other lucky people. Paparazzi and other tabloids don’t even know about her.”

Is that even possible? Dorian asked himself in his head. Some tabloids disguise themselves as celebrities and get their biggest stories like that. There must have been at least one story about her. “So you think I took a picture of her?” He asked a little disbelievingly.

Mark glared at him and nodded, “I met her once and she looked exactly like that.” He looked at the picture once more. It seemed so pixilated and posed. Dorian shut off his camera and leaned over the balcony with Mark. Spring was almost here and a lot of partying went on in Los Angeles. Dorian hardly believed a person like this… Dame was walking around these streets. “I hardly believe she was walking in a place like this,” He muttered.

Mark sighed and stared at him. “Don’t you think crowds of people would have been pulling at her and making a scene?” Dorian continued.

“She always covers her face and no one knows what she looks like. Besides, she isn’t even well known across the public,” Mark snapped at him to make his point.

“Then how is she famous?”

Mark groaned and slapped Dorian’s shoulder. “Only the elite know her. People like us know about her.” People like us, Dorian echoed in his head with a slight smile. Ah, the success being rubbed in his face in the most glorious form. His fame being rubbed in his own face. He took it in for a moment appreciating his life to the fullest. He had the best kind of fame with no paparazzi chasing him and not worrying about public humiliation in the media. But then again, the main subject was that Dame.

“I didn’t edit this picture just so you know,” Dorian answered honestly. Mark looked at him with a quirked eyebrow and a sarcastic expression.

“We’re on the roof of a forty one story building and you took that picture just now. The dame was all the way at the bottom and all the people are fast forwarded and she is standing still looking right at the camera.” Mark explained thoroughly. Dorian sighed and had thought about deleting the scary photograph. He was scared too though. It was indeed a beautiful photo but it wasn’t him. The dame did it.

“Let’s go to that party at that place called Dramatic Grandeur,” Mark suggested suddenly. Dorian simply shrugged and put his camera away, checking if he pressed the right button. Both of the boys headed down the stone steps of the hotels porch, but Dorian quickly glanced back and saw a black laced veil far off on the roof.