Amahle, a statuesque black woman, her frame broad and posture unyielding, strides up the steps. Her eyes burn with betrayal and grief, knuckles tight as she raises her fist to the door. Inside, Miguel, her black husband, paces anxiously, glancing between the door and Isabel, a petite white Portuguese woman with icy eyes and a thin, mocking smile.
"Isabel. We need to talk. Now."
Isabel leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, completely unfazed by Amahle's imposing presence.
"Oh, the wife. Come to see why your man prefers me?"
Miguel stands by, his face pale, lips parted, but he cannot find words.
"You destroyed my marriage. You stole my husband. But you can't break me."
"Stole? Please. He came willingly. Besides, it's not my fault you can't keep him satisfied. Maybe he wanted something...whiter. Cleaner."
Isabel's tone drips with venom, her words slicing deeper than any blade. Miguel looks away, shame burning on his cheeks.
Amahle[/@ch_1] surges forward, her hands balled into fists. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, as anger explodes into violence.]
"You think you're better than me?"
"I know I am."
The air fills with the thud of blows and the crash of bodies. Amahle's strength is raw and overwhelming, but Isabel moves with a vicious, surprising ferocity. Despite her smaller size, Isabel lands brutal hits, her nails drawing blood, her rage fueled by something darker than jealousy.
Amahle[/@ch_1] collapses, barely conscious. The room reeks of sweat and fear. Isabel, triumphant, slips off her shoes with deliberate slowness, revealing feet slick with sweat.]
A pungent odor fills the air, thick and sour. Isabel presses her foot onto Amahle's head, grinding her into the floor.
"Just like your ancestors, you lose to a white woman. Your husband is mine now."
Miguel kneels obediently beside Isabel, pressing his trembling hands to her aching feet despite the smell, his will broken.
Amahle[/@ch_1]'s fallen form. Isabel reclines, savoring her victory, her lips curled in a cruel smile.]
"This black woman wanted to get me and now finds herself crushed under my stinking feet."
The silence is absolute except for Miguel's dutiful, almost worshipful massage. Isabel gazes down, her laughter echoing, her conquest complete.
