lady macbeths

Flames lick my neon-cladded nails. The night is a tang of bittersweet eighteen. Such an age where beauty turns into wickedness, an unfurling story of a butterfly’s wings. Tonight is my night, my stunning stumble to the real girlhood fight. The sky is a starless tableau, glinting my cat claws into its knife-beaded rue.

My girls are lined behind me. An arrow shape warranting its attack. It’s all sequined dresses in shades of scarlet, blood-bloodier-and-bloodiest. We are wounds wrapped in spectacular glitter - shining, blinding, and poisonous.

And the night is stark like a glossy feather of a deadly crow. Three girls, one beating heart. Suspended limbs in skyrocketing heels. Heathers cut out from origami of magic, smelling like vodka and cinnamon sweets.

Red lipstick and inky eyes of color. Hair in its calculated yet chaotic wave. That is the perfect definition for Maddie. Her gift is a piercing glare of cerulean blue, tongue lulling matte words of female fire, “Girl, rock the world.”

And with her attuned cheekbones that can slice the world in half, Lyla stands with her wit, “Sashay in all of your glory.” That song is plucked with the bat of her lashes - a movement of dandelion venom.

I have never been bold before, but tonight is different. I am bolder, wilder, and unfathomable. My hair has never been the color of snow, but it’s a silver platinum for this night.

My eyes has never been the epitome of the sea, but this night, the lava-core shade is washed away. Maddie, with her eccentric humor, says the contacts will embed itself into my eyes, but I don’t care.

This night is my delicious eighteen. And there are three girls in a row of fatale. We are like the folklore stories that were told as a warning. A smoking gun. A walking conflagration. We are the hunted witches, reincarnated from the oldest tales of Salem. We sing beautiful melodies, our short dresses serving as our scales - sirens in control, making men die.

We crash the party in a swirl of tornado, various set of eyes raving on our skin. A magnetic force of charm. Bewitched and entangled. No one can shove away girls like us. We peel off the crowd so easily, the music halting for a millisecond distort. There is noir in the air. It’s a party unlike the dull-duller-dullest ones. No bad choice in boys, because tonight, it’s about me and us.

Our smiles are grave and cunning. Confidence brimming into its canine - taunting the crowd. And there is a glimmer in our claws, ready to scrape its scars. Lyla lets out a laugh, screeching glitter that it almost blurs into a howl. The attention bolts on us. Our hands held in a playful cult.

And suddenly, we all know. Maddie, Lyla, and me - the universe at its center. A chandelier casting its golden glow. And I know everyone sees it - the witchfire in our souls. The magic embedded in our bones. The wicked accentuation on our smirks. And for a minute - we strut the night in our spiky footsteps. And they follow. They see the barest form of teenage girls - fangs, claws, and ferocious flames.