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Locked inside your heart-shaped box

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The room always smelled of spices, of a soft glowing heat from the flames of the candles, and the perfumes they spritzed sparingly along their necks when they had the chance, even though it reminded them of the shows they put on. The unwelcome hands, calloused, fat, hairy. It meant more than that; it meant beauty. It meant femininity. The girls... they just wanted to feel like - like they were real girls. Instead of puppets.

Amber always smelled the best - she wore a soft vanilla balm on her lips that co-mingled with the sharp, hypnotizing draw of their perfume, better than any other smell in the world ever could. Blondie couldn't help but inhale deeply every time Amber stood near. Which was often, and so welcome it almost hurt when she didn't.

Blondie sighed softly as she turned the corner into the large bedroom, an almost-smile curving her lips as she opened her eyes and leaned against the door frame. "Hi," she said, looking at Amber who laid on her bed, momentarily escaping what seemed like a never-ending workload.

Sitting up quickly, Amber's eyes sparkled - not actually, but in Blondie's mind - and Amber waved Blondie over as her heels hit the ground.

"What's up?" Amber asked, turning Blondie's palm over on the bed, setting her finger tips in the crevasse of Blondie's hand, scratching lightly at her skin. Blondie held back a giggle, and folded her fingers up to still Amber's.

"Nothing," Blondie answered slowly, trying not to think of how many answers to that question there actually were. None of them were good. Never good. "We have to go scrub the floor in the dance room soon," Blondie said, on second thought. Chores were the least of their worries here, and they're something like stability. So Blondie didn't mind. As much.

Amber said, "Mm," to that, not exactly pleased, but it was something she hadn't forgotten, and so she was not disappointed to hear it. Every day... At least in that room, they danced for themselves, and that was as close to a good memory as any of them had. No one really remembered a time before, and no one believed in a time after, so it was all they held on to. The feeling of gliding over the floor, of stretching the muscles in their bodies and making art. Them. 

When Amber looked back up at Blondie's eyes, they were averted. Amber hadn't meant to be so negative as to bring Blondie down.

Lifting her other hand, Amber pulled at Blondie's chin gently. While Blondie still wasn't looking up, Amber felt Blondie's fingers loosen their grip, telling her she was feeling better. Amber put a finger tip in the center of Blondie's forehead, who bit her lip at the touch, so she wouldn't smile.

Slowly, precisely, Amber drew her finger along Blondie's smooth skin, an arch up, curved down her cheek, to a point at her chin, and up the opposite side in much the same way, forming an invisible heart. Blondie looked up from beneath her pretty lashes, and Amber leaned in close enough to touch noses. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah," Blondie whispered, and the warm glow around them felt warmer than before. "I know."