Tainted Reflection

I glided down from the high masonry ledge to the recessed sill of an antique shop's bay window. Resting against a velvet cushion sat a polished porcelain doll's mask, blank, smooth, and staring forward with sickening purity. Perching directly over its brow, I dragged a sharp claw through a puddle of greasy gutter sludge pooled on the stone, then traced a slow, filthy smear right across the pristine cheek and pale lips. The polished glaze swallowed the dark stain, ruined and smeared forever. Its frozen little serenity vanished under my smudge.