Kurt is running. Always running. He dashes through the lush forest of pine, their needles pricking his porcelain skin and their towering heights concealing his efforts in a dense guise of shadow. The earth is wet and soft; its contents flattening beneath his bare feet and toes. It only serves to slows him down as it seemingly wants to ensnare him in place. He never lets it. Kurt is exhausted; his lean muscles are used to running but it's been miles of difficult terrain and he knows he has to stop. But he's reluctant to give in to the unknown entity which chases him. Superficially, he's scared. It's the anonymity of Kurt's pursuer that bothers him the most. Deep within him he suspects he shouldn't be so terrified and sometimes he even wonders if the being that stalks his steps is somehow trying to help him. But Kurt is nothing if not prideful. His father always said he was too stubborn for his own good. Trust was a difficult concept for Kurt to grasp. Alas, tonight was not the time for trusting.
Kurt spun on his heel; his cerulean eyes searching the darkened forest for some place to hide. A small depression, just large enough for person, lay beneath a ledge of rock obscured by a thick underbrush. Kurt surveyed his surroundings once more, just now noticing the full, blood-red moon looming deep in the pitch-black night sky. There was nowhere else to hide. The sunken refuge of rock would have to do. Cursing quietly, Kurt quarantined himself in the cavity with haste. The overgrown vegetation acted as an inhibitory barrier from the outside world; a temporary reprieve from the chase. Kurt's ragged breath ghosted over his full, pink lips in small wisps of fog from the cool night air. He wills his body to stay still as he waits for something, or perhaps someone, to appear and discover his makeshift shelter.
Nothing comes except for a deafening howl of a lone wolf that pierces both the night and the deep recesses of Kurt's soul.
Kurt awakes with a strangled gasp as his palm clutches his throat. He's positively drenched in sweat as he attempts to catch his staggered breath and sporadic heartbeat. "What is wrong with me" Kurt exhales deeply in frustration. This god forsaken dream has plagued his nightly slumber for years now. He never understood why it manifests itself in the same form at least once a week. Bracing himself for the day to come, he made a mental note to talk to one of his psych professors who specialized in analyzing dreams. Perhaps they could figure out what they meant and why they persisted in torturing Kurt's treasured beauty rest.
Shaking off the nerves, Kurt proceeds to his shower to wash away the sweat and grime that his weekly nightmare provides. The scent of roses and honey from his, admittedly ridiculously expensive body-wash, fills his nose and travels with the steam coming from the scalding hot water. The scathing liquid seeps into his bones, relaxing his tense muscles. The nightmares always felt so scarily...real. Almost as if he were actually sprinting through those very forests he so incessantly loathed. Kurt's long and lean legs felt like jelly. The kind of physical sensation one gets after running an intense and athletically demanding marathon. But what unsettled Kurt the most was the conclusion of the nightmare. Even thinking of the howl, in all of its shrill clarity, sent a chilling shiver through him that settled at the base of his spine. Kurt thought it had sounded so pained and so etched with longing and desire. Almost as if it were searching for something, or someone, that had been lost for years and was passionately awaiting their return. With a shake of his head, Kurt attempted to banish the dream and the lone wolf, for that matter, from his mind.
He roughly toweled his body, which was tinged a slight pink from the hot water, as he got out of the shower. Kurt sat at his vanity stark naked, the creamy expanse of flesh positioned elegantly on the pristinely white papasan chair. The various bottles strewn across the tabletop were positioned neatly in order of use as Kurt began his extensive morning skin care routine. The last bottle, his favorite moisturizer with SPF for his painfully fair skin, was missing. Kurt grumbled in disapproval and willed the misplaced bottle to show itself. The morning had already gone awry with the nightmare, a missing skincare essential was just the overly saccharine icing on a terribly unappetizing and unwanted cake. Eyes closed in frustration, he breathed deeply to settle his perturbed nerves. Unnecessary stress was bad for the skin after all. When he opened them, he was shocked and puzzled to find the strayed moisturizer neatly tucked in the last row ready to be used. Strange, Kurt thought to himself, I must have missed it.
Abandoning his initial confusion, he began to slather on a sizable amount on to his face. When he was done, Kurt admired his appearance that was reflected in the mirror. The flesh of his face, just like his body, was positively milky and devoid of any blemishes or marks. Thick, straight brows boyishly framed his otherwise soft and feminine face. His nose was slender and petite with a devastatingly adorable slope that rounded at its top. High cheekbones accentuated the regalness of his pronounced Elizabethan face with deliciously pink lips the color of fresh rose-buds not quite deepening into their deep red hues.
"You're entirely too pretty for your own good." Kurt muttered sardonically to himself. Kurt actually loved his admittedly elegantly delicate features. It gave him an androgynous quality that few people could possess let alone could pull off. Nevertheless, it often made people uncomfortable. Too pretty. Too girlish. It wasn't natural for a man too look like that. Everyone made sure he knew, of course. Kurt bared the emotional trauma to prove it. It affected his daily interactions with people as a child but altered itself into something else entirely in adulthood. He begrudgingly attracted all types of people. Man or woman, it didn't matter. They were often fooled by his demure looks and deceptively high voice. It made breaking the news to them all the more troublesome. While most people were unsettled by him, Kurt knew he held seductive power over people. It was hard to explain, even to himself. Whoever was held at the expense of his otherworldly blue-green orbs framed under thick lashes, was entranced with their gaze. It was often hard for them to reconcile their attraction to someone as different as Kurt. As a result, most people tried to steer clear of Kurt lest they be captured. Kurt preferred that they do. But he had to admit it was lonely. The duality of being both desirable and repulsive drained him.
Kurt peered into his sea-stained cerulean eyes and sighed. They were anchored by purplish bags that blossomed underneath his tired orbs. But his eyes held something deeper and more telling than Kurt cared to admit. They were full of longing and desire. Their perceptive gaze searching for something that was lost.
They carried the same pained note of the lone wolf that afflicted his dream.