under a blue moon I saw you
so soon you'll take me
up in your arms
too late to beg you or cancel it
though I know it must be the killing time
unwillingly mine
She sees him on a blue moon.
She doesn't mean occasionally, though perhaps that applies.
She means the second full moon in a month, the streets of Venice lit by it, the water a dreamlike milky white.
She is at one end of a bridge, he is at the other. The way they stand is a challenge, him relaxed yet poised, her tense yet drawn. Their eyes meet across the distance, and the few people strolling between them disappear.
He'll have her soon, she knows. Knows he'll lift her in his arms and there's nothing she can do to stop it, she knows nothing she says will make him leave.
(destined)
She doesn't even know if she wants him to go; doesn't even know if she wants to delay what she'll never be able to stop for any longer.
(inevitable)
It is The Killing Time, she thinks. She will meet the death of herself here, and she does not know who she will be after he has her.
(inescapable)
She doesn't think she wants to know.
They are still.
He is fate, she thinks. All she has is her will to resist the pull of him that resembles the pull of the waves to the moon which gives even more definition to his silhouette, and it is much too weak.
Everywhere she goes, everything she goes through, no matter how simple or how difficult, he is there. He will be there, watching and waiting.
(fated)
She's not sure why she keeps using the word 'take' in her mind, because that is all wrong. He has only ever waited patiently, only ever asked, only ever respected, only ever kept his distance.
She supposes she will give herself to him, and soon.
(certain)
Fate is becoming too strong, as though he is feeding off of her determination to resist.
(unavoidable)
It was always the nights; starlit nights dipped in champagne. It was always those nights when he would show himself, watching her from the sidelines.
When she slips away from the parties he is always waiting, a body at his feet and his mouth full of blood.
A scarlet night, my darling, he would whisper against her skin.
Then he would kiss her, his cruelty dripping into her mouth. With the touch of his lips she is suddenly in a different world, one where she could slow dance with a monster and be one herself, if she so pleased.
The stars always looked like diamonds when they broke away.
The years between these nights turned from centuries to decades to scores to years to months; she knows The Killing Time is approaching, and she thinks so does he.
He takes a step, so does she. Her dress drags behind her, his suit tugs against him.
Fate against will; will is losing, and has been since the start.
(assured)
He steps forward, a longer stride.
(ineluctable)
She shakes her head.
Will shall lose, they both know, but not tonight.
She turns and walks, his eyes burning against her bare back, grateful to this blue moon for the exquisite lighting.
"I'll wait, my darling." It reaches her ears.
"I know." It does not need to reach his, he knows how clever she is.
fate
up against your will
through the thick and thin
he will wait until
you give yourself to him