Before it starts, there is always the smile, the veil covering the stain or do I say, the sheep skin cloaking the fox. There is always the sweet display of affection, in the shadow of which is laced with an invisible poison. The melodious laughter, the gifts, the kind words, memories of which excites and makes you want to walk down the aisle.
And just after you walk that road, the breeze starts to blow. It first blows on the veil, revealing a tiny speck of stain. And then you think it is nothing.
"It is but a tiny speck of stain", you say, "just a little soap here and a squeeze and it will be gone."
And then you wash and squeeze, and the breeze continues to blow, and the stain continues to increase, and your fingers begin to weary.
People will tell you to keep washing, stain will eventually go. After all, they washed theirs and the stains are gone. Others will tell you to stop washing, to discard this soiled cloak and move on. They will remind you that the breeze will continue to blow and more stain will be revealed. The more you wash the more you will realize they are indelible. But oh, who are they to advise you? Well they cloth you if you throw away this one? And so you continue to wash.
You hear stories of other people in your shoe whose strengths had failed and are now eternally naked. You need no prophet to tell you that the stains they tried so hard to remove are still there. Perhaps you continue to wash because "the stains they tried to wash off are different from yours. Yours will eventually go away and the true beauty of your cloak will eventually shine through". So you continue to wash.

Maybe one day, another breeze will reveal the most horrific stain, and your strength will be drained, leaving your fingers lifeless. You will wish you had listened to the people you thought never cared, the people you may have cut off because they told you the stain was indelible. But it will be too late.
You realize you had lived a life of delusion, and that the stains you tried so hard to remove will be covered again with another veil, in search of another to deceive.
Your lifeless finger may or may not be a warning to others who weary themselves trying to wash out the indelible stains on their once beautiful cloak, the stains revealed by the breeze.