The Black Thread

The Black Thread


She tugged the needle through again viciously, and then choked back a sob to hold the material closer to her tired eyes. What shadow of her teenage world view had made her think black on black was a good idea? Oh yes, black doesn’t show the bloodstains, what a pretty metaphor! Childish. Blinking back tears, she banished that wide eyed girl back to the depths of memory, yelling after her that no one was coming to rescue her to a life of romance and beauty. For truly, no one had ever come; there was just hard work and quiet desperation. She didn’t believe in white knights anymore, and thanked some god she half-believed in for that, even as she fought to spin dreams into cloth reality. Fought herself and material alike, seeking those few transcendent moments of beauty when she could see and touch the world she once believed in.

-Reprise/Response to a short story from age 13

Corset/Skirt: Leaf & Crown, custom

(Silk and leather, zipper accent)

Shoes: Thrifted

Photography: E Lila Stroh

Styling: Dina Arrieta

Mood: Torn open, craving salted licorice

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