OK... So this is the first story EVER I'm posting here. It was beta-read by McGonagall's Bola (who is a really fabulous writer by the way.) I hope you enjoy it.

The computer refuses to put a horizontal line here...

Blue. His eyes are blue, a madly twinkling blue. I used to get lost in them. They seemed endless. Endless like the things I thought him capable of, endless like the stream of things I imagined for us to do together. Endless like my love. And now, as I look into them, I see myself. They have turned into mirrors.

There's no longer a never-ending pool of emotions, but myself. Me. Me and my "pretty" face, that looks so young in his old eyes. He's forty-four years my senior. People told me the age difference was too big. I didn't listen. Why should I? I knew we were meant for each other. How I hate to admit people were right. How I hate to say I should have listened.

And now as we lay next to each other, I hear his and my blood run side by side. I usually listen to his heartbeat or breathing. I take in deep breaths to smell his scent. I used to wish I could drown in it. I used to put my head on his chest and let myself be rocked to sleep by its steady rising and falling. Now there's only silence. I'm deaf to his breathing as I am oblivious to the blue of his eyes. There's only the sound of my blood running – and his! A constant reminder that he is still next to me. I'm turning away from him. Every day a little bit. I'm running away from him, away from the love of my life. I don't know why. It's too cold next to him. His arms are no longer a safe place, but they remind me of the danger I'm in. He's too dangerous for me simply because he is who he is. His enemies, his past, his doubts. He scares me – unwillingly, but I'm afraid of needing him, while he's capable of being without me.

And as I run, I notice that I'm fleeing into a dream. The very same one I was in when everything started to fall apart. The dream of the life I imagined us to have. The dream of his amazing power to save me, wherever I am, whatever happens. He told me, that I could never meet my friends again. It was too dangerous. That's what he said. They could be traitors, he said. I didn't hear him properly. I was too deep into my dream. There was something wrong in his words and in the way he said them, but nothing that couldn't be fitted into my little world.

And now I'm in this dream again, and it's perfect. My life is perfect, he is perfect, we are perfect. There's no pain anymore, no doubts – neither mine nor his. We just are. Together. Fitting.

And it doesn't hurt me, that I can't meet my friends. It's okay. There are sacrifices we make, and this is mine. I have him. What else could I want? Sometimes there are tiny monsters creeping their way into here. They want to take me out of here. They want to get me. But I hide. They will never reach me. I will stay here. Even more so now that I've lived out of here for a while. I don't want to be there again. I want to stay here. Here, without pain, without fear. But as he is standing in front of me and I look into his eyes happy to see the endlessness once again, I see my face. My face in his mirroring, emotionless eyes. And I'm back. Back in a world I grow to hate as the seconds go by.

Once he said that I am the keeper of his heart and that his life belongs to me. Now I want to take it, this life, and throw it away. I don't need it. I don't want it. I don't want to have something that has, now that I think about it, never been mine. As much as I love him, he just adored me. The pretty face he liked and wanted to possess is all that ever bound him to me. But I love him – loved him… no, love him. More than is good for me. Like a blind man who can suddenly and miraculously see again, I'm realizing what's happening. I was forced out of my beautiful world, and all I see now is darkness. Or maybe a world that is all grey. And I miss the colours. The beautiful colours. So I look at him with the one look he can't resist, and as he pulls me towards him, I run into my world again. The dream of the life I wished to have.

One day, my pretty face will be gone… and he'll be gone with it. One day…

Blue. His eyes are blue. They used to twinkle, but now they are only mirrors, because my youth is already fading and therefore the reason for his eyes to light up. They are blue like the sky. A sky that means freedom. And because nothing forces me to stay, I lie back down next to him.

Sometimes freedom means to choose what is right, not what is good.

Please review. =) And thank you for taking the time to read this.