Lurid

She'd never seen anything like it.

The fabric between her fingers moved like silk, but that wasn't what it was made of. This was something else, an experimental polyblend, created with new tech, just released on the market. It was moisture-wicking, cutting-edge, outrageously expensive.

But that wasn't what drew her to it.

It was the color. Bright crimson. It seemed almost lurid, the way the cloth glimmered. Red like wine, like parting lips. Red like blood.

She had to have it.

* * *

Some hours later, the garment box lies open, tissue paper tossed haphazardly across the bedspread.

She looks in the mirror, relishing the feeling of forbidden fabric against her skin.

Well, not forbidden, exactly, but certainly not appropriate either. Not what was expected.

She lifts a leg, watches the way the cloth drapes across her torso, and gets dressed, layering beaded robes on top of pseudo silk.

She walks that day with a decided spring in her step.

Bright crimson concealed under midnight blue.