Hey! Not dead! Just, ya know, tons of stuff I need to do now that I'm in college. x.x I promise I'll be working on New Game again, I just need to write a couple of one-shots to get my brain going.

-Static

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He wasn't sure just what, exactly, made her so appealing. Of all the other girls out there, just what was it that made her so different? Indeed she was from an alternate dimensional plane, but still. Why was it her in particular? Aside from the enchantments that once forced him to find her desirable, what made her so special?

He gazed down at her, her sleeping face oddly tranquil. She looked, for once, relaxed, revealing none of the usual stresses that the land and its people imposed on her. Her hair was splayed haphazardly in every direction, glimmering like pale gold in the moonlight. Her skin was so white she could have been a ghost, and the tips of two excruciatingly sharp fangs just barely poked out from a pair of slighly parted lips, a light shade of pink. Her smile was gorgeous, but it was also an ever constant reminder that - despite her incredibly sweet dispostion - she could kill him at any moment she pleased. Like him, she was unclothed under the sheets, and she was solidly curled up against him, using his shoulder for a pillow.

He wondered at how, even though he was just a few inches from the edge of their absurdly large bed, there still wasn't enough room for her, though he supposed that wasn't entirely her fault. She had a good ten feet to herself, but still her armored silver tail - twice the length of her body - hung off the edge. Her wings, just barely fifteen feet across, stretched to the edge, though to her credit, she had draped one of them over his person, allowing him to keep warm in the freezing winter night.

Again his eyes flickered to her face, and he couldn't help but to mull over just how beautiful she was.

Very, very different from how she looked when he'd first met her.

She'd been pretty then, certainly, but he had thought she was a child. That obnoxious blue hair bow, the boxy and frilly smock, the non-matching pair of glaring red shoes, he'd thought her to be no more than fifteen at the most.

She had been twenty.

Her appearance had denoted a complete lack of taste, maturity, and sensuality. For a long time, he had questioned the dress, though never outwardly. At this point in his life, he had much better manners, and besides: to question a woman's taste meant almost instantaneous death. However, after multiple conversations between the two of them, it had become clear that her outfit - suitable for a five-year-old rather than a fully grown woman - wasn't actually her choice.

It was her sister's tastes.

Her dead sister. Whom she had loved more than just about anyone else.

It had been then he'd come to see a little more of who she was. She was willing to sacrifice everything for her sister, even her own personal preferences. She'd been willing to step back when the man she loved renounced her for her sister, and though the woman was long dead, this girl still did everything she could to keep the memory intact. She'd felt so guilty when her sister died... Though the recollection of her sister's death was neatly stowed away, almost erased by his boss, she still answered the non-existant woman's every whim.

To look upon her now, one might not think her to be so sentimental, or at least they'd never have the bravery to say so to her face. This woman, miraculously his, had become a rather...dangerous creature, as terrifying as she was beautiful. She had finally been here long enough, wallowing in her indecision...

Well, the decision had been made for her. She'd run out of time, and been given a role but...she wore it well.

She had shown herself to be fierce. Now that she was permanent, concrete, and had her own set of powers as granted to all the Role-Holders, she had a will of iron. Not that she didn't before, but now that she was physically capable of holding her own against the other insane residents of the chaos that was Wonderland, no one could bully her. They couldn't threaten her into things anymore, and he could tell that made her happier than she cared to admit.

Yes, she was amazing in both her different phases of existence, Foreigner and Role-Holder. As a Foreigner, she was admirable for the respect and devotion she showed to her family back home, in spite of the fact that Wonderland had what she desired most. After recieving her status as Role-Holder, she became the ferocious ruler of the Northern Mountains, a dragon whose enemies were few and far between as no one dared oppose her.

She was magnificent in all her forms.

"How long do you plan to stare at me?" A gentle and amused, though sleepy voice snapped him out of his reverie. Bleary blue eyes stared up at him, a small smile adorning her face. When had she...? He'd been caught completely off guard.

He wasn't sure he liked the feeling.

"When did you wake up?" He asked, placing his chin at the top of her head, his arms tightening around her imperceptibly.

"When you did." She answered simply, the smile in her voice all too obvious. "But seriously, go back to sleep. You're tired, and on top of that, wounded." She scolded. His eyes snapped open. It took every ounce of his self-control not to flinch. He'd forgotten just how damn observant she had become.

"What makes you think I'm wounded?" He questioned, grinning as he closed his eyes again.

The woman's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed. Did he really think he was going to get away with that?

Lightly, and much faster than he could react, she poked a finger into his side. She couldn't decide if she felt gratified or guilty when he hissed in pain.

"Shit." He growled, and in turn she huffed.

"You're a grown man, you should know better."

"But you're more important." Her eyes narrowed,

"You mean your hormones are more important?" She hadn't even given him a chance to responed when she lifted herself and turned her back to him, tucking in her wings so as not to shove him off the bed. "Do you not understand that I could hurt you?"

He did. On an intellectual level. However, there was an issue. She was almost a foot shorter than him. She was exceedingly skinny, with a minimalistic figure that resembled more a young teenager rather than the curvacious adults he was familiar with. Still though, he knew she was stronger than him. Hell, he knew she wasn't even technically human, but something inside of himself, some deep-rooted instinct, said that because she was so tiny, she must be fragile.

He kept forgetting that she was, in fact, stronger than him. Maybe his resentment of that fact had a little to do with it, but he digressed. He attempted to apologize, but she wasn't having it. Without even turning to look at him, she spoke again.

"You need to take care of yourself. And if you dare make a speech about replacements, I will kill you myself." She snarled.

There wasn't much he could say to that. After a few moments of deliberation, he decided there was only one thing to say.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, and turned away, pulling the covers up to his face. Moments passed, and then he heard the woman sigh. He felt the blankets lift, and before he could protest, her hand had ghosted over his cracked rib, healing it with her magical dragons fire. As the pain subsided, his body relaxed, and suddenly he found himself feeling much more comfortable.

"I know," she answered, just as softly, her voice nearly breaking. "But you're still going to do it again."

As much as he might have wanted to, he couldn't argue with that. So instead, he pulled her close again, pillowing her head with his shoulder once more, his fingers lightly weaving through strands of her hair. It wasn't long until he noticed her breathing even out.

It wasn't long until he too let his eyes slip shut.

/*\

That seemed oddly...lacking in continuity. You know what I mean? Thoughts?

-Static