The party had forgotten her, she had wandered off. The men who had wrapped their arms around her shoulders could no longer quite recall the curves of her collarbones or the way that blue velvet hung over her breasts. Her dress had the color of the ocean at night, her hair was the color of the midnight islands draped across it.
So that when he heard the running of the tub and opened the door he didn’t see the dress or the hair but only the splash of light across pale collarbones and round breasts, and she was dissolving into the water. He couldn’t tell if she was crying, but when he tried to lift her chin to look in her eyes, she slipped through his fingers, into the bath, and down the drain.