Sixteen Years Old - Elisabeth

Elisabeth 16

‘’Lisbeth, do open the door’ insisted Gerard. ‘Hurry up, Paul’s ill.’

There was a pause; then the door opened just a fraction and the voice was heard to say:

‘Ill?’ You can’t catch me. I know you’re only trying to make me let you in. You’re telling an untruth, aren’t you? Are you?’

‘Paul’s ill, I tell you, do buck up. He’s on the settee, he’s shivering.’

The door opened wide to reveal a girl of sixteen, with a strong physical resemblance to Paul. She had the same blue eyes shadowed by dark lashes, the same pallor of complexion. But whereas the lines on his face betrayed a certain weakness of comparison, hers, two years older, beneath soft curling hair, had already ceased to be a sketch for the finished portrait, was already groping for its organic principle and racing, dishevelled, to overtake its beauty.

Jean Cocteau  ·  Les Enfants Terribles aka The Holy Terrors (Trans. Rosamond Lehmann)