The moon. He shone down from the trees like a wraith, radiating an ephemeral light that flickered constantly. His words were like music, a lullaby designed to trap her under its spell. His poignant words, his elegant lope—everything hinted at a devil disguised as an angel.
He was crafted from the stars, a glorious being who was more handsome than even the thistle, designed to capture her heart and twist it until she would fall again, heartbroken and lost.
But perhaps I can trust him, her thoughts whispered. Perhaps he's not all bad. Perhaps. . . perhaps I can find love again.
