You Look So Beautiful

In their quiet cul-de-sac, Johnathan and Emily were unloading groceries when he saw movement across the street.

"Emily," Johnathan called over his shoulder, "look what Daniel and his wife are doing."

Emily stepped out onto the porch. Across the way, Daniel stood beside a white BMW, hands dripping from a bucket. He pressed crimson handprints against the driver's side door.

"Paint?" she asked.

"Has to be." Johnathan crossed the street. "Hey, Daniel—interesting car decoration."

Daniel grinned. "Protection."

"How will you remove the paint?"

"It's not paint. Lamb's blood from this morning's sacrifice."

“This is absolutely nuts!"

The words hit like a slap. Mina's face flushed with anger. "None of your business," she snapped as Johnathan walked away shaking his head.

Two weeks later, just outside the community gates on Crossing Avenue, Johnathan and Emily passed a pharmacy just as Daniel and Mina emerged. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the sidewalk.

"Hey guys," Johnathan greeted them.

Mina drifted toward Emily, examining her face with a keen intensity. She whispered something in her own language, locking eyes with Emily.

"Excuse me, what?" Emily asked.

Mina straightened, lips curving into a slow smile. “I said you look so beautiful.”

Something about the way Mina said it made Emily's skin crawl. The words felt toxic.

"Oh, thank you," Emily managed.

"Well, see you around," Johnathan said quickly, pulling Emily away.

That Tuesday evening, Emily sat on the edge of their bed, touching the back of her neck. "Can you check this spot? It's driving me crazy."

Johnathan examined it, eyes widening at the patch of tiny red bumps, each one slightly raised. “Don’t scratch it. It’s just a small rash,” he warned gently.

By Friday, the redness had spread along her jawline. The next week, it deepened and crept toward her cheekbone.

“Maybe see a doctor?” he suggested over breakfast.

"It's just dry skin,” her voice wobbled.

She slapped on foundation, but the skin beneath peeked through, sallow and rough. Each time she washed her hair, loose strands clogged the drain, refusing to rinse away.

Her eyes were the worst. The brightness he’d always loved grew dim and glassy. At night, she curled under their comforter—turned away from him.

One afternoon in the hallway, Emily stared at her reflection.

“It’s more than a rash now,” she whispered.

Sleep eluded Johnathan as he replayed that moment on Crossing Avenue—Mina's jealous glare and those venomous words.

Words that sounded sweet but felt malicious. And now Emily was fading before his eyes.

He lay awake, haunted by the image of the white BMW marked in blood and by Mina’s chilling whisper.

You look so beautiful.