M is for Masquerade. Shakespeare once said, 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts...' His life had often felt like a stage, a grand script being acted out on an intergalactic level, written by some not so benevolent being that had no care for the players so long as it entertained the masses. And he thrust into a part that didn't fit, as if they were trying to force him into some preconceived mold; one he had no intention of ever embracing. It was abrasive, tight, suffocating and cast by some other's design, not through any will or composition of his own. Yet he was stuck, playing it out like a good, little soldier, unintentionally fulfilling their slightest whim.

So to save himself from losing hold onto the thin threads of his sanity, he'd donned a masque of his own; one that was cool and uncaring, indifferent to the hurtling plot encompassing him. A facade he presented to this world, and his own, to protect the far too fragile heart that felt the slings and blows and bruises far more deeply than he'd wanted those ice cold deities that orchestrated his life to know. He was nothing more than a game to them, a toy, a story to be told and retold, playing out in the same manner in an endless, heart-wrenching cycle and he refused to allow them any more pleasure in his pain than necessary.

It wasn't a perfect masque; he'd never mastered true indifference, being far too fiery and passionate for his own good. He couldn't hide himself away completely; but he embraced it nonetheless and had been satisfied when most shied away from it, the chinks subtle and unapparent to the mindless masses. He'd hidden them far too well behind the cynical smile that graced his lips, twisting his face into something not quite human at times, and the bitter light shone through his eyes.

Not that it mattered; few dared to question the smoke and mirrors he hid behind; no one cared to...until her.

She challenged him, with spirited, bronzed eyes that saw into the depths of his soul and scoffed at the lie he'd built, bringing to life emotions best left drowning in the abyss he'd created in his heart. Artfully chipping away at his guise, leaving him bare, naked, exposed – free – with nothing more than a few words, a soft touch, a look that told him that she wasn't buying his act, by the role he'd been shoved into through circumstances beyond his control.

Treating him as if he were worth something; treating him as if he were deserving; treating him as if he alone was all that mattered.

It was difficult remaining unattached, unaffected, unmoved, when she wove that spell around him, morphing his world and creating, casting him into a part that he'd never thought he'd live to see. And it made him want. Made him ache. Made him forget that he hadn't been born into that shining crowd, that shining light that suffused her and others of her ilk.

Made him think, that one day, he might find that light too. One day.

This power of hers confused him, frightened him and yet, he couldn't help craving more. And the closer he drew to that beacon, the more he had been changed, until the mask fell away, laying in nothing but tatters at his feet, broken beyond repair. But he didn't care, because, in her eyes, he was whole, loved, and he felt completely, utterly, irrevocably...

M is for Mesmerized. He knew that he should be wary of her draw; it would only lead to heartache, as love and fine things weren't meant for people who lived in tin shacks and barely could afford enough to keep themselves alive. But she had this pull on everyone she touched and he was no different; all he could do was watch on helplessly, in dumbfounded awe as she spun her web, uncertain what it was about her that captivated him so readily.

But whatever it was, it was intoxicating.

Most people would have assumed that this power came from the bright, bubbly blonde that was forever at her side, always sparkling and grabbing for attention, but he'd been studying them for weeks and soon came to the conclusion that the world was blind. Although, he had already seen evidence in that due to the part he had been unfairly cast into. But rather than her being cast into the shadows by her friend's natural vibrant, effervescent personality, it was the reverse.

She had always been the center of their universe, thoughtlessly casting out drops of her own brilliance to all who stood near, so that they too could shine and share in her radiance. Thus making them appear larger than life.

He found it ironic in a way, that the bright, glittering blonde was actually the one that orbited around the quiet, cool elegant brunette. It seemed to defy the natural order of things. After all, hadn't they not been taught that those with a lesser luminescence always circled those with the higher? That it was the moon and Earth that orbited around the sun?

But then, she'd always defied the odds.

And he thought, perhaps, they needed to shift their perspectives just a touch; because, to what purpose does the sun exist without the Earth to give it meaning?

Without it, it's just another star.

M is for Marked. She'd changed his life, this slip of a girl; opened his eyes to a whole realm he'd never understood. One he'd never wanted to understand, because, to taste heaven, and then have it ruthlessly and viciously ripped away by the puppet masters that had engineered his life, it would have been more heartbreaking than his fragile heart could bear. It was a sweetness long denied to him – everyone's favorite whipping boy – due to careless caretakers and family untrue.

He was only fit for scorn; fit only for chastisement.

He didn't want to set himself up for his inevitable fall at the hands of those who tried to tell him they were his better; that looked down their noses and cast him into the sewer because he wasn't one of them.

But she...she never played by their rules, and when they tried to rein her in, she'd thumbed her nose at them, blatantly defying their world order and ignored the loaded whispers that warned her to leave well enough alone. How many times had she stood at his side, gloriously defiant and unrepentant in her stance? How many times had she had his back, protector and a very demon when properly riled? How many times had she stood in front of him, his shield and the first line of his defense?

Too many times to count; and all done in that unselfish, thoughtless way that showed the world that he was essential to hers. And for this, he'd gladly wear her brand, bright and bold, glinting on the third finger of his left hand, a ring that screamed to the world that he was hers, and then follow her into hell itself if she asked. Because she proudly and defiantly wore a matching ring, that spoke volumes above the fray.

M is for Melt. It's what he did every time she was nearby.

His thaw began when he first met her, that brave young girl who had stood in his path and stared him down, a fierce, desperate light in her eyes despite the way her body had quaked under the force of his best glare. The way she had looked at him, half-afraid that he might strike her down where she stood, and half like she was going to drop kick his ass if he didn't stop being an utter idiot, standing her ground had earned his reluctant admiration and melted a bit of the icy fear that held them apart.

That thawing grew as time marched on, reaching a small stream when she'd once again stepped in front of him, but this time in defense, shielding him from the pretty little alien hunter that had used her guise of teacher to get information on him and his kind. The FBI agent had thought that she was clever, posing as a harmless guidance counselor, and able to outsmart a few teenagers if not the world.

But not her.

She had seen through her friendly act, and innocent looking face, ripping away her mask for all to see with just a bit of help from their friendly, neighborhood hacker that just happened to be her best friend. To protect them. And to protect him most of all when she went against the fearless leaders dictates and showed up on his front doorstep, facing the vile scum he called a foster father, all to make certain he stayed safe. Because his life mattered to her.

And then...he'd held her in his arms, and he'd been lost.

A chance meeting.

An unforeseen accident.

A kiss.

And that was all that it had taken to start the deluge. It had been one simple kiss and yet it had rocked the entire world with them as the epicenter. A nuclear bomb exploding, and them ground zero. A level five hurricane, and them the eye of the storm. It had the power to undo his world, to remake it, to reshape it into what he had today.

He drowned in that heat; in those sweet kisses that set his soul on fire, that burned and flamed and eventually cracked, then shattered and finally completely obliterated the ice that had wrapped around his heart. Those kisses were his own personal sun; one that warmed him on the coldest of nights, one that indeed finally brought that elusive, shining light that annihilated the dark that had clouded his life.

She was nothing but a slip of a girl; one he had never intended to talk to, much less let so far into the play that was his life. But in her typical, stubborn way, she wouldn't take no for an answer and rewrote the script, firmly insinuating herself into what was supposed to be his one-man show. And to be honest, he couldn't even complain. The truth was, he didn't miss that masque, and it felt great to give those, now, not so smug deities the finger, as he'd had the last laugh.

M is for Metamorphosis.