Chapter 1 - The Polish and the Pedestal
In a brightly lit luxury walk-in closet with polished white marble flooring and light wood shelving units, a blonde woman in a sleeveless white dress stands over a young girl in a white dress who sits crying on a thick cylindrical wooden stump stool, polishing black high heels.
A framed American flag hangs on the wall in the background.
The camera holds an eye-level medium shot framing both characters in the center of the static composition.
The heavy scent of chemical leather polish completely smothered the faint notes of expensive vanilla perfume in the room.
The little girl’s fingers were coated in a thick, greasy black paste.
She rubbed the soft cotton rag over the pointed toe of a stiletto.
The rag moved in slow, rigid circles.
Her small shoulders hiked up toward her ears with every rotation.
Above her, the blonde woman tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her own thigh.
The tapping was rhythmic.
It sounded like a metronome ticking down to an explosion.
The marble floor was spotless, reflecting the harsh overhead lighting like a frozen lake.
The girl stared at her own distorted reflection in the polished black leather of the shoe.
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She tried to make her breathing perfectly silent.
If she didn't make a sound, maybe the towering white fabric of the woman's dress would just float away.
