This, is a new fic by me. It's looking hopeful. But I'd love some reviews and stoof. Don't worry if it's a little confusing to begin with, its intended.

Mwah
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Who We Were

Chapter One

Her skin was paler than mine; almost a pure white, except for the small rosy glow that sometimes played across her cheeks. Her mysterious, captivating eyes were as black as the night, sometimes hinting a streak of brown that struck through the middle, only stopping for her pupil, then continuing to the opposite side. I couldn't help but admire this, and the way her hair shined a blue as the moonlight caught the curls that travelled half way down her back, almost touching on her curvaceous waist.

Her clothes were rather tatty; they didn't do her otherwise perfect features justice. The white flowing dress she always wore was ripped, torn in some places, caked in dirt, and stains in others; it hadn't occurred to me it was a wedding dress. But from my imagination, it was obvious that this piece of clothing was once very grand, it would have done her beauty justice. She was always barefoot, something else that interested me. I'd never seen her wear shoes before, although perhaps they weren't needed in her current state.

She was a great listener, great at advice too to be honest. She seemed to be wiser each time she spoke, although as she was a great deal older than me, you'd expect a few wise words to roll off her tongue on occasion.

We met at the same time and same day without fail. She didn't really have a say in the matter, the choice wasn't hers to be had, as she'd told me many times when I'd asked her why. Being only fifteen, I didn't quite understand her small mumblings about phases of the moon and a tear in time that had allowed me to be within her extraordinary presence.

So, every 14th of the month at seven in the evening I would make my way to the graveyard to see her, to talk to her. Not the usual place to converse in, I'll admit to that, but it set the scene quite perfectly for the tale that would eventually unfold from within it. I'd usually end up spending the whole night speaking with her until daybreak, when she'd be out of my reach again for another month.

I know what you're thinking. This is some fantasy, concocted by the wild imagination of a fifteen year old boy who has no other interest in his dull, nothing-filled life. You're wrong. She is; or should I say was… Either way, she is no daydream of the mind, she's no vision that I could create through some whimsical fancy. She is…

She just is.