Word Count: 143.
Pale and beautiful as a midsummer full moon,
Just as curved, her watcher observed.
She seemed as innocent as the spring grass,
Was she really, though?
The watcher wished that the watched hungered after him,
But, no, she had set her sights on another pale one,
Unfortunately, the watcher's father.
Twas in that the irony lay,
For the watcher's father was oblivious to the moongirl's lusty gaze,
While he gazed after his son, the watcher.
The watcher, in turn looked at the one who loved his father.
Such was the cursed fate for the moon's children:
Never to love one not their own,
Forever ignorant to the flames of love itself.
For the fire of love goes to the sun,
So the moon choose the ice of hate,
And worlds suffered.
Test Your Limits Competition II, Round Three, Styx: Love Triangle.