~*~AN: okay. I lied. This isn't super long. I guess I was just having a
little trouble with this chapter. Well, I know it's short. But.hey, it's
fanfiction, not a novel. Anyway, thanks so much for all the comments. It
really means a lot to me. Keep 'em coming!~*~
Chapter 3: Pain in Confusion, Poetry, and Decadence
Spinning
Perfect Precision
Caught
In his Gaze
Or Grasp
His mismatched Eyes
Were ferocious
Seemingly kind
Yet vindictive
The Gaze
Would Last
The young girl's eyes were soaked with tears. They streamed down her face and clouded her vision, causing an illusion of the scene like a Monet painting. Sarah had always liked Monet. She continued to cry. Her body shook uncontrollably. How? How? How? He was so intimidating. She no longer had the power she carried with her when she was youthful and full of foolish dreams. She no longer had a baby brother to fight for. There was no fantasy land. There was no Underground. There was no song and dance. There was no Labyrinth. There were no tricks. There were no goblins. There was no magic. There was no Hoggle to save her. There was no line she could've repeated to defeat this madness. There was no dream. Things were what they seemed. There were no illusions here.
Her body felt weak, and before she knew it, it was in the arms of a Devon Jet, or a Jareth, or a villain, or a King, or a hero, or a con artist, or her mother, or her father, or Toby, or a terrorist, or the President, or an Iraqi suicide bomber, or a drag queen, or a heroine addict, or a prostitute, or a bank owner, or a teacher, or a prisoner, or a thief, or an actor, or a model, the world. The world. She was in his arms. Everything that she ever carried about was holding her close to it's chest. Her brain jumbled.she could hear her own thoughts scrambling around, but she could make no sense of them. It seemed to be utter confusion. Contact.
Contact.
Contact.
CONTACT!
She screamed and used all her might to pull away from him, fighting blindly . . . her sight temporarily taken away from her as she was in panic. The tempo slowed, and she gave up her fight. He had her in his gaze again.
His seduction.
NO! It was not seduction. He . . . cared for more than just lust, perhaps? Was it something other? The tempo continued to slow; the music became enchanting and less frantic. The mood changed. Her eyes were locked to his, her lips were parted in awe . . . he felt a hand to her forehead. She was sweating.
A fever. There were whispers. A fever.
There must've been a fever upon her. He nodded. She couldn't see him.
His lips.
His lips were moving closer to her. They touched her skin.
CONTACT!
Warm.
They pressed against her cheek. She had thought they would be too cold. She had been wrong. They were so warm. They were so warm.
~*~please keep reviewing, you guys. Thanks!~*~
Chapter 3: Pain in Confusion, Poetry, and Decadence
Spinning
Perfect Precision
Caught
In his Gaze
Or Grasp
His mismatched Eyes
Were ferocious
Seemingly kind
Yet vindictive
The Gaze
Would Last
The young girl's eyes were soaked with tears. They streamed down her face and clouded her vision, causing an illusion of the scene like a Monet painting. Sarah had always liked Monet. She continued to cry. Her body shook uncontrollably. How? How? How? He was so intimidating. She no longer had the power she carried with her when she was youthful and full of foolish dreams. She no longer had a baby brother to fight for. There was no fantasy land. There was no Underground. There was no song and dance. There was no Labyrinth. There were no tricks. There were no goblins. There was no magic. There was no Hoggle to save her. There was no line she could've repeated to defeat this madness. There was no dream. Things were what they seemed. There were no illusions here.
Her body felt weak, and before she knew it, it was in the arms of a Devon Jet, or a Jareth, or a villain, or a King, or a hero, or a con artist, or her mother, or her father, or Toby, or a terrorist, or the President, or an Iraqi suicide bomber, or a drag queen, or a heroine addict, or a prostitute, or a bank owner, or a teacher, or a prisoner, or a thief, or an actor, or a model, the world. The world. She was in his arms. Everything that she ever carried about was holding her close to it's chest. Her brain jumbled.she could hear her own thoughts scrambling around, but she could make no sense of them. It seemed to be utter confusion. Contact.
Contact.
Contact.
CONTACT!
She screamed and used all her might to pull away from him, fighting blindly . . . her sight temporarily taken away from her as she was in panic. The tempo slowed, and she gave up her fight. He had her in his gaze again.
His seduction.
NO! It was not seduction. He . . . cared for more than just lust, perhaps? Was it something other? The tempo continued to slow; the music became enchanting and less frantic. The mood changed. Her eyes were locked to his, her lips were parted in awe . . . he felt a hand to her forehead. She was sweating.
A fever. There were whispers. A fever.
There must've been a fever upon her. He nodded. She couldn't see him.
His lips.
His lips were moving closer to her. They touched her skin.
CONTACT!
Warm.
They pressed against her cheek. She had thought they would be too cold. She had been wrong. They were so warm. They were so warm.
~*~please keep reviewing, you guys. Thanks!~*~