The Crimson  Lips

At the end of a cobblestone lane, in the gloomy depths of Eldermoor, where even the bravest feared to walk after dark, stood an odd business. Reading the old sign above the door, "Madame Vesper's Enchantments" could hardly make sense through layers of filth. With stories of dark sorcery and horrible atrocities, the shop's reputation was as opaque as its windows.

A curious young woman passionate about unusual cosmetic items, Isabella was pulled to the shop one dark October evening. She entered and the bell above the door rang dully, the sound absorbed by the stifling silence. Old books and melted wax permeated the air, and the low light created long, dark shadows.

From the gloom, Madame Vesper appeared, her eyes gleaming with a terrible curiosity. Her fingertips traced unusual objects and dusty bottles as she walked with a terrible elegance. 

"Welcome," she sung, her voice a terrible whisper. "What drives you to my modest home?"

Isabella's eyes strayed to the rear of the store to a glass case. Inside, tucked on a bed of black velvet, was one lipstick tube. It was a deep, hypnotic red that nearly pulsed with life of its own. 

"The Crimson Kiss," Madame Vesper said, her eyes closing. "A rare and strong lipstick, but beware - it demands a sacrifice."

Ignoring the advice, Isabella bought the lipstick; her enthusiasm eclipsed any sense of moderation. She gently put the Crimson Kiss on her lips in the peace of her little apartment that evening. The color was breathtaking, turning her mirror view into one of unearthly beauty.

A terrible feeling started as the evening grew darker and shadows crawled across the floor. Her lips tingled then scorched, like though lit ablaze by an invisible flame. As the agony grew, each second more agonizing than the last, panic shot through her. She hurried to the bathroom, spraying water on her face, but the burning just got worse.

Her mirror view was a horrible one. Her lips became a graphic, bleeding mess as the red hue seemed to soak into her skin. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Her lips were breaking open in horrifying, gory strips as the flesh started to flake. Blood spilled from the open wounds; the agony was so strong it sent her to almost insane state.

Desperate to get rid of the terrible lipstick, Isabella scratched at her face but her attempts were in useless. Her hands came away blood-stained, the suffering intolerable. Her once-perfect face has become a hideous mask of terror.

Days became evenings in a whirl of suffering and hopelessness. Trapped in her flat, Isabella couldn cry for aid; her voice vanished to the curse. Growing more concerned, her friends and relatives sought to get in touch but their calls remained unmet. They finally notified the police.

Isabella was fallen on the bathroom floor with a terrible, skeleton face when the police at last burst down her door. Beside her, the Crimson Kiss lay with its terrible radiance unbroken. Once vibrant, her eyes fixed lifelessly at the ceiling, evidence of the suffering she had gone through.

Madame Vesper's store disappeared as inexplicably as it had first shown, leaving no trace. Like trying to wipe the memory of its presence, the lane where it previously stood grew overrun with plants. Eldermoor, a sobering reminder of the threats lurking in the shadows, saw the tale of Isabella and the Crimson Kiss go through.

Some people still assert to hear Isabella's quiet screams carried by the wind, a haunting warning to anyone who could be seduced by the temptation of forbidden beauty, on moonless evenings. Remember Isabella's fate should you ever come across a lipstick that glows unnaturally. True beauty could cost too terrible to consider, and certain curses cannot be reversed.

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