He stands where the wind licks the salt from his neck. Hues of fire melting into unborn skies. He smells the pollution of the city, tastes the sin of corrupted whores. He reaches his hand out to grasp nothingness. He is enigmatic. Hiding emotions unseen by those who view him in solar eclipses.
He is unfamiliar with emotions of desire and love and how the two can swirl together into masses of fixed limbs and fateful sighs.
He knows only the darkness of battle, the light of goodness and the lines that cross his eyes on shadowed days.
Night fell fast, night filled up the mountains and settled over the water and he was left once more with the lamp of the moon.
She watches metaphors dance across flickering screens. An alien in their midst. A Tamaran angel. She cannot help the mixed words of grammatical errors flowing from her mouth while those around mock and amuse her.
-You don't eat much anymore-
Green eyes. Fangs. She registers the eyes always. She can see them, feel them. She shrugs off his concern. Her attention poised once more upon lights dancing across the wall. She is tired and yet sleep does not concern her. These are not sins of omission but signs of preoccupation.
She stands and walks away. Down long corridors filled with strange scents and forgotten battles. She runs the tips of her fingers across the texture of the smooth wall. Only she could feel the small dents of life there.
She remembers everything. Everything touched by her senses. Every flutter when he walks into the room. Every heartbreak when he leaves.
After Slade she feels lost. Uncertain of her own fate. Should she return home? Is she needed here?
I cannot describe the sense of loss she feels wandering streets of indifference and hate. The person she wishes to revert back to. The person she wishes to become.
Her green eyes glow against mirrors. He watches them in secret. Always in secret.
The enigmatic boy.