Dawn of Eve, MJ Howson [lightweight ebook reader TXT] 📗

lay against her neck–the flat ruby stone’s edges sparkling in the vanity’s bright lighting. Her normally pale complexion appeared rosy. Dawn slowly ran her fingers through her black and white hair. She snapped the locket closed, turned, and left the room.

Since bringing Eve home from Zuni, the back section of Dawn’s wardrobe closet had slowly become her go-to place for what to wear. Rediscovering her mother’s fashion collections from decades past had been an unexpected trip down memory lane. She wondered why she’d spent so long avoiding color.

Evelyn Easton’s 1995 spring collection, Love Unbound, had caused quite a stir upon its debut, sending the fashion critics into a frenzy. Vogue went so far as to call several of the pieces “uncharacteristically slutty.” The predominantly leather and lace collection made a significant impact on the industry, despite the mixed critical reception.

Dawn undressed and slipped on a pair of black panties and a matching bra. She took a moment to admire herself in the mirror, running her hands around her breasts, down her tight trim waist, and across her curvaceous hips. Eve’s locket bounced against her chest as she posed and spun around.

Dawn returned to her mother’s colorful options. A barely crotch-length sleeveless red lace robe caught her eye. She briefly considered wearing it but then remembered how cold it was this time of year. Dawn selected a full-length red silk robe with lace edging. After slipping the garment on, she cinched the thin black leather whip-like belt tight around her waist and took the private elevator down to the first floor.

“Evelyn, what time is it?” Dawn asked. She waited several seconds for a response. Soon a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Caretaker, what time is it?”

“The current time is 2:05 p.m.,” the voice assistant replied.

Dawn knelt beside her wine fridge, opened the door, and browsed through her options. She decided to stick with her wardrobe choice year and selected a 1995 Peter Michael Les Pavots.

“Caretaker, play 1995 rock and roll.”

“Playing 1995 rock and roll,” the assistant said.

U2’s  Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me began to play. Dawn sliced the foil top from her bottle and proceeded to open the wine. She filled her glass halfway, tilting the glass back and forth to allow the deep red legs to cling to the sides. Dawn took a sip and made her way to her studio across the room, swaying to the music as she walked.

Every iteration of her unnamed hilly sunrise paintings covered the once barren walls. Some were done on black canvas, others on white. Each sported either a single hue or different combinations of colors. The shape, texture, and vibrancy varied between them. However, each one displayed the identical twin large hills with a smaller glimmering one between them.

Dawn’s earlier rejected works, wrapped in plastic, rested against the far wall. She placed her wine on the floor, grabbed the nearby palette knife, and carried it to the first group of paintings. Dawn sliced through the wrapping and removed the first canvas.

The abstract picture contained geometric images inspired by the sleek glass skyscrapers in nearby Hudson Yards. Using nothing but flat black paint, she’d leveraged different sized brushes to create varying depths of interlocking shapes.

“I used to think these had value.” Dawn flung the painting to the side and watched it hit the polished concrete floor. The wooden frame snapped and cracked upon impact. “But that was a lifetime ago.”

Another stack of paintings sat wrapped in plastic a few feet away. Dawn pierced the plastic apart and took a small step back to inspect her work. Prior to the geometric series, Dawn had done a collection of black and white florals on black and white canvases. The resulting group represented a series of negative images of different flowers, including lilies, roses, and orchids. She once felt they were her best work.

Dawn picked up the floral painting. She frowned and smashed it on a nearby table, causing the wood frame to snap. Dawn grabbed her palette knife and began slashing through the next painting. She picked it up and crushed what was left onto the concrete floor. The wood frame splintered, scattering fragments everywhere. Dawn went through her older paintings one by one, slashing and smashing them.

Dawn scooped up several of the destroyed pieces and carried them through the living room and over to the terrace door. She opened the door and flung the debris onto the patio. The wind caused the shredded sections of canvas to ripple loudly like sails on the open sea. It took a few more trips between the studio and terrace to get all the debris outside.

Dawn grabbed her wine and took the private elevator up to the top floor. The rock music continued to play within the car’s speakers as it ascended. Once in her bedroom, she went to the front half of her wardrobe closet and began to rip her black, white, and cream clothes from their hangers. Dawn collected as many as she could and brought them to the hallway, tossing them into the middle of the four stone pillars supporting the spiral staircase. The clothes spun and twirled, some still on their hangars, as they fell to the first floor. The garments came to rest beside the nearby stroller.

Once she finished clearing her colorless clothes from her closet, Dawn took a moment to enjoy her silky red wine. The song by U2 faded, and Van Halen’s Don’t Tell Me (What Love Can Do) began to play. Dawn went to her bathroom and searched through the cupboard until she found a bottle of nail polish remover.

Dawn left her bedroom and descended the stairs, carrying the remover and her empty wine glass. Several gowns had fallen on the steps, failing to reach the first floor. She kicked them the rest of the way downstairs. Dawn packed the clothes into the Silver Cross Kensington Pram carriage. She wheeled the stroller to the kitchen and stopped to refill her wine. While there, Dawn grabbed a lighter from one of the