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For as long as Chanteuse could remember she was filled with blackness, and rage. §he was black inside because she always got the short end of the stick when her so-called friend, her so-called sister Ķleőpĥǻ was around. Ђe bitch wished they were of relation, and thank the gods that she really wasn’t. Ђat made Chanteuse smile, knowing her blood came from a long line of Kings and Queens and Ķleőpĥǻ’s blood came from a dead bitch rotting away in the earth. Her corpse makes good fertilizer, Chanteuse thought. No wonder the flowers of all kinds beam with color. And the fact that Mama Resha took to her didn’t make things better.

Ђe nerve of her dumb mother making a fool of her in front of Ķleőpĥǻ. Ђe phony smiles plastered on Chanteuse’s face whenever another person of the Village praised Ķleőpĥǻ, the daughter of ЯŷæšħūŜ.

Dead woman. Rot in hell, Chanteuse thought of Ķleőpĥǻ’s mother, and meant it with everything in her heart, mind, body and soul. Ђank the gods she never met the bitch. Good ridden. §he despised anything of beauty, even going as far as ripping rose petals from flowers whenever she was near them.

At nine years old Chanteuse used to trap butterflies in small glass containers, watch them lose their air as they boisterously flapped around the jar, trying to find an escape, and the instant they fell to the bottom of the glass, dying, only then did she open the top, the rush of oxygen revitalizing the butterflies, and she would dig inside the jar and rip their wings off, so they experience pain of all kinds. §he used to laugh into the moonlight when she did that, imaging the butterflies was Ķleőpĥǻ.

Her eyes evilly clouded over throughout the day. Whenever it rained, Chanteuse would enter Ķleőpĥǻ’s room, smelling of sweet strawberries, and pull Ķleőpĥǻ out into it. §he told Ķleőpĥǻ that the best way to bathe wasn’t in the Great bath that all the villagers must partake in daily as the sun rise, and nightly as the moon rise. But she knew Ķleőpĥǻ always got sick when she was in the rain, and Ķleőpĥǻ never protested because she had a genuine love for her, and her face lit up every time Chanteuse was near.

Running around the rain forest in the rain was the best activity to do with Ķleőpĥǻ, because it kept her sick, and Chanteuse always celebrated in private when Ķleőpĥǻ was bed-ridden with the flu, because of being wet of the earth. §he knew Ķleőpĥǻ hated the rain, and only loved the rain when she was on the inside of the hut, watching all the trees of all classes and kinds and the grass and the plants and the flowers drink to their hearts content.

Chanteuse hated Ķleőpĥǻ’s room. §he had the finest of linen, the best furniture crafted from the redwoods of the forest, Σgyptian sheets and petals all over the place. §cowling, she was jealous of Ķleőpĥǻ and her room. Chanteuse’s mother was the lost heir to a fallen kingdom in Σgypt, and even she doesn’t sleep on Σgyptian sheets and walk around a hut filled with rose petals on the floors, and that explains why Chanteuse destroys roses whenever she saw them, or came near them.

During a hot summer night it rained again, when Ķleőpĥǻ was 15 years old, and Chanteuse, like she always does, rushed into Ķleőpĥǻ’s room and asked her to go with her to the rain forest to be “bathed” by the gods.

As always, Ķleőpĥǻ obliged, but this time she was reluctant to go to the rain forest, because she didn’t want to, and she didn’t feel like getting sick again.

Chanteuse wasn’t hearing it. §he was demanding, and a bit of a dictator, and it was beginning to rub Ķleőpĥǻ the wrong way.

“Why art we out here in the rain, Chanteuse? Art ye not aware that I always get sick when ye bring me into it?” Ķleőpĥǻ’s red satin dress of sorts stuck to her curvaceous body, a body Chanteuse envied, even though she had a body rivaling hers

Ķleőpĥǻ spat water from her mouth, shuddering. Chanteuse was having a field day at her grief, and planned on getting her sick again, if that means keeping her in bed with members of the village tending her every needeth, and that gave Chanteuse the freedom to give up her vagina to any man of her choosing, and they lined up to get a piece of the pie, as long as they remained mum, Chanteuse ruled them, and they couldn’t control her. And she knew it.

Chanteuse ignored Ķleőpĥǻ’s question, and grabbed her shoulders with the palms of her hands, and kissed her cheek, unemotionally, and smiled at Ķleőpĥǻ, evilly.

Ђen she averted her face. “Ye don’t want to be out here in the rain with me, Ķleőpĥǻ? I love no one but ye.” Ķleőpĥǻ’s heart melted, and she reached over, in the pouring rain, and stroked Chanteuse’s cheek . Dismayed, Chanteuse cringed inside, but hid it from her face.

Chanteuse glanced deeply into Ķleőpĥǻ’s misty eyes, eyes that captured the sun when rays befell them. Ķleőpĥǻ smiled and hugged her sister at heart, planting quivering lips on her cheeks just as Chanteuse hugged her back.

“Fine, Chanteuse. If it means that much to ye I will do it, just as I always have. If ye needeth me, if ye ever needeth me, even in the future, I’ll be there for ye.”

Ђe rain let up drastically, reduced to sprinkles, but they were already soak and wet.

“Why do ye hate the rain?” Chanteuse asked. “I love the rain!” she went on, disallowing Ķleőpĥǻ to respond, so Ķleőpĥǻ swallowed what she was about to say, and what she was going to say didn’t seem important. “Ђe rain purifies the soul!”

Ķleőpĥǻ smiled then, cupping her friend’s hands. Maybe she’s right. Why rain on someone else’s parade just because Chanteuse loved the rain, Ķleőpĥǻ thought to herself, hiding her thoughts in her deep setting eyes. §he had a right to love what she wanted to love, and since she was Ķleőpĥǻ’s dear friend she would give her what she wanted, just as long as she kept her enigmatic and magnetic smile on her face.

Chanteuse hated her own smile, and hated Ķleőpĥǻ’s smile.

Chanteuse’s belief about the rain became Ķleőpĥǻ’s gospel.

“Ђen purify us the rain does!” Ķleőpĥǻ said excitedly as the rain picked back up, at an angle 2 inches of water fell.

Ķleőpĥǻ made Chanteuse laugh with joy when she threw her arms and hands up about the Heavens above, trying to reach for the silvery purple clouds that lazily rolled by, spitting on them the fluid that purifies.

Ķleőpĥǻ kissed at the moon and urged Chanteuse to do the same. Chanteuse gave a half-hearted kiss, and this thrilled Ķleőpĥǻ. Ķleőpĥǻ began turning in circles, hugging herself, and laughing with cheer. Chanteuse stood beside her, rolling her eyes, wondering was the bitch crazy.

Chanteuse then began turning in circles with Ķleőpĥǻ. And they held hands and spun and spun and spun each other until Ķleőpĥǻ was dizzy, and vomited all over the ground before them, the rain washing it and the stench away as if it was never there.

Ђey spun again, only this time they tripped over each other and fell on the wet grass, hugging and laughing together, their breasts pressed against each other’s. Ђey vowed to never let each other go.

Chanteuse lay on top of Ķleőpĥǻ, and they held their breath. Ђe chemistry built between them, and they were both wet between the legs at the same time, smelling of each other, and smelling each other, neither wanted to blink and lose the image of a love affair in the making, if they chose to take it further.

Never again will she worry about getting sick in the rain, and if she did it would be worth it because she spent quality time with her dear friend. §he would die for Chanteuse, if only Chanteuse asked.

Ђeir hearts pounded ferociously, each girl waiting on the other to make the first move. Ђey lay side by side now, their legs intermingled, the rain stopped totally.

Chanteuse kissed her and Ķleőpĥǻ received her, and then drew away, embarrassed.

Her first kiss was with another girl, and not of a boy.

“Art we blood sisters?” Chanteuse asked, her hatred for Ķleőpĥǻ beginning to blossom into the love it’s always been, and part of her admitted why she hated her so much, it was because she was in love with her and got jealous whenever anyone touched her, hugged her or came within five feet of her.

Ђey knew from that moment on things will never be the same.

Ķleőpĥǻ pondered her question with a smile, and lustful thoughts rocking her senseless, but she didn’t act on them, or open dialogue about them.

“We art blood sisters to the death!? Ķleőpĥǻ said, vowing to love her forever.

“Do ye love me, Ķleőpĥǻ? Like a real sister? Or art ye just saying those things because we shared our first kiss?”

“Yes!” Ķleőpĥǻ answered with a collective gasp, her eyes sparkling, her vagina pulsating. “Yes! And don’t ever question that!” Her African scent was strong and evident.

Ђey staggered as they, numb inside, stood up, reluctantly helping each other up to their feet. One concerned with the other, and the other not concerned with her at all, can ye guess who?

Chanteuse kissed her again, and then turned away in shame. What was she doing? What exactly was she feeling? Had she always wanted to kiss me? Ķleőpĥǻ thought with a secret grin she shared only to herself, her eyes dancing all over Chanteuse’s backside.

“To the death…” Chanteuse whispered to herself, wiping tears from her face.

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