Cracked Moon

The morning sun crawled up the eastern horizon, painting the sky a golden, yellow. I watched the docile beauty of it all from the second story arched window. I couldn't bear to remove my eyes from such a breath-taking sight. But the morning had to unfold as I had planned. I walked over to my vanity and removed a bristled hairbrush and began brushing the thick curly waist-length blonde hair. Looking in the mirror I saw that the bruises were barely there. But the real abrasions were left to scar on the beating pulp of my heart. The scars were cut over and over until the last time they healed it left a callus. So now, when I was degraded and tormented from the night since our union, my emotions had hardened like a callus. And I could no longer feel the pain, it was so regular.
Day-light was a mask that concealed what happened behind closed doors when the moon rises at night. I felt only did the moon witness the horrific enduring with Henry. At times when the moon's face was a blood red, I knew it was only an illusion, compared to my face and body. However morning was not the time to dwell on last night's undertaking. So I rose from my bed, sore but my hip had popped itself into place as I shifted on it last night. I walked to my grand cherry wardrobe that contained my underwear and clothing. From it I removed a royal blue - black laced corset, a white blouse, petticoats, and the matching royal blue over skirt.
When I dressed in front of my vanity mirror my subconscious thoughts spoke for itself:
"Now a dress fit for royalty, here comes the day as it should. But remember when night falls you'll have your revenge" I took heed to my thoughts and let them help me dictate my actions. I smiled, very pleased with what the day had to offer. So continuing my morning, answering the door to the maid who carried in tea and breakfast, I ate.