A broken stare from across a crowded room. Bottom lip tugged under, released a bruising red. Footsteps like haunted shadows, brushing the dirt wood floor with little more than a tap.

"Fancy a drink?"

His charcoal eyes widen, pale lips tugging upwards, smoothing a hand down his blonde curls.

"My mother tells me to never drink with a stranger," he replied finally, running a hand down the smooth material of her crimson dress.

"You still live with your mother?" She sits by his side, leaning forward until her lips flutter against his.

"Want to come and see?"

The broken look is back, her eyes falling slightly. They flicker to the corner and stick on a man in a leather jacket, gaping wide, his obsidian eyes burning her. She doesn't respond.

"We could make him jealous," his lips tug at her ear.

The man stiffens, glare narrowing.

"He's my brother," and she lets out a gasping laugh, a glimmer of terror shining in her eyes.

"We could escape."

Her eyes move back to his. She nods, once, and disappears into the crowd. He hurries to follow.

She pushes him up against the bricks, rubbing her hands down his toned body.

"Now, where were we?"

He stares at me from across the crowded room:

no smile, no familiar twinkle in the eye.

A stranger, almost.

The stare blank, like a canvass or untouched snow.

Chilling and frozen.

His face crinkles in an action reminiscent to that of parchment left too long in the sun.

He is not a ghost but a memory

beginning to fade, beginning to dissolve.

Gone. Forever.