The girl walked about worriedly. She was afraid the people were judging her attire. After all, a faded pair of denim pants and a black short sleeved shirt were not exactly considered classy clothing.
He looked around frantically, he had not seen her for quite some time now. She should have been there at least half an hour ago. He was worrying when Winema came to him. She looked him over, probably judging him for his choice of clothing, although he didn't have a choice: he didn't have any money. She most likely was looking at his sandals, his torn pants and faded orange shirt, which had many holes.
She finally passed the stupid hallway filled with snobbish rubbish and went for the Great Hall, where the "party" was being held. She opened the door rather silently and walked through the crowd. As per her name, she was a phantom. Albeit her clothing was more than casual, nobody noticed her, she floated through the crowd and headed for the snacking table.
He sighed. Suddenly, something familiar, he tuned out the one sided conversation Winema was having with him and he focused. A peculiar smell he had come to know, and cherish. The smell of a rain forest: freedom, love, the smell of morning dew. It was one of the few things that could calm him, just like his mother's poems.
She started to look at the people surrounding the table, she saw many politicians and other rich and influential people, but one stood out. In her white dress, her mother the president of the United Planets, Winema Wazzo. She was. Fervently talking to someone, unfortunately that person was blotted out by her mother. With a bit of shuffling about, she noticed the thick rope like black hair she had come to love playing with, and the ears she loves to tease.
He turned his head from the conversation, a sign of avoidance. He missed her, after all that had happened they were still separated, and he was stuck here being berated by this woman. After he opened his eyes, he noticed a petite figure dancing through the crowd towards him. She was beautiful; a phantom of beauty. Her hands soon found his broad shoulders and she pulled herself up.
Their lips met, painfully slowly, but they wanted it that way. A sign one would always wait for the other; they had eyes only for the other, no one else, in the image of the wolf. He wrapped her in a protective and powerful embrace with his arms that so often protects others than himself. They parted, only to gaze into each other's eyes. They lowered their forehead and his senses were overloaded with the sight, the smell and the touch of her. They kissed again, she nibbled on his lower lip, and her arms hooked around his muscular neck.
He could hear Winema had finally noticed he was not listening to her and stopped. She gasped and approached the couple. She smiled and gave the two their space.
"I thought I would never see you again" she whispered while silent tears rolled down her porcelain face "I was so afraid that... that..."
He tightened his embrace and rested her head in the crook of his neck, gently caressing her hair. An action used to comfort the crying angel, reassured the wolf was not having another hallucination. She was here. She was safe. He had her, and that was all that mattered.
The phantom saved the wolf. And the wolf protected the phantom in return. They loved each other, and it was good.