It came in a box.

It was a simple thing wrapped in brown butcher paper with twine wrapped delicately around it. It was a small box that fit in the palm of her hand and with a small white card slipped under the twine bow on top.

He told her not to open it. "Not yet, at least." He'd smiled as he placed it gently into her outstretched hands. "Wait till you get home, I'll wait for your response after."

She hadn't understood what he'd meant. She still didn't but she'd nodded as if she had and allowed him to plant a soft kiss on her cheek then one on her forehead before giving her a gentle push towards the taxi waiting for her and watching as she slipped into it. He'd shut the door closed after her and waved goodbye, a smile still on his lips even after the taxi disappeared from sight.

She'd held the small box in her lap, her hands cupped protectively around it the entire ride home. She'd stared straight ahead, refusing to look down at it lest the tempation to open it right then and there prove to be too much for her to stand. She couldn't help but notice however how unusually warm the box was.

As soon as she stepped through the door to her small loft she slipped her coat off, hung it and her bag on the coat rack beside the front door and padded barefoot, having removed her shoes along the way, to the kitchen table.

She placed the box gingerly on the wooden surface of the table there and pulled out the chair in front of it. She sat held her hands in tight fists on her lap and simply stared hard at the box before her.

It wasn't a ring, that much she could tell. The box was too big and when he'd first given it to her she'd noticed it had some weight to it.

It wasn't a book either, it was too small to even hold a book inside.

It could perhaps be a small bottle of perfume. It seemed to be just as heavy as one.

Then again, it could also be a coffee mug too. He did know how much she looooooved coffee after all.

But... if whatever the contents inside the box could be as mundane as a perfume or cup then why the mystery? Why did he insist she wait till she got home to open it? Why would he refuse to give her so much as a hint as to what it could be?

The girl balled and opened her hands repeatedly on her lap. The itch to tear into the wrapping and see what was inside was killing her. At the same time however she was a bit nervous, scared even as to what she might find inside.

There had been something about him today that made her worry. Something that didn't feel quite right...

Her apartment was quiet, save for her breathing and the slow but steady tick of the wall clock hanging in the living room ajacent to the kitchen table she sat at. It made her flush with slight embarrasment. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? Another handful of steady ticks later and she knew she was. It was the incredibly loud ticking clock that made her snap out of it and allowed her to focus and begin to notice things.

It made her suddenly aware of something that she hadn't noticed before.

A sound.

It was... faint.

Almost muffled.

She cocked her head to the side, leaned closer to the box and listened...

For a while there was nothing.

Just her breathing and the clock.

And then just when she was ready to roll her eyes at the absurdity of it all she heard it again.

Clearer this time.

Ba-bump.

She nearly jumped back from the shock. It had hit her and reverberated through her like the beating of drum.

She swallowed.

No. No, no- It couldn't be. She was just hearing things.... yeah, that was it... it was all in her mind...

She leaned in again this time with her head turned to the side so that her ear was directly above the small box.

Nothing.

Silence.

And then...

Ba-bump.

She really did jump back then, knocked the chair out from under her as she jumped to her feet.

"Holy. Fuck." She breathed.

It took her all of thirty seconds to shake away the shock. It took her another thirty seconds to steel herself and reach for the box. It took her exactly sixty seconds to tear into the wrapping, discarding the pieces haphazardly all along her kitchen table.

It took her only five to pull the lid off the black box she'd uncovered.

It took every single fiber, every single ounce of strength in her body to stay standing. It took every bit of control in her to keep from losing her lunch and whatever other contents she had in her stomach all over the kitchen floor. It took all that and more to reach for the box, with shaking hands, and tilt it just so so that the contents inside could spill out.

She really didn't have to do that. It wasn't like she needed a closer look or anything- she knew what it was.

Morbid curiosity though is a powerful thing.

The more she stared, the more she saw and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The more she saw however, the more she discovered.

Aside from the glistening, beating... thing... she also noticed a small, almost delicate looking dagger. The blade had probably been shined to a glossy finish but now... well, it was a bit difficult to look at it too long without feeling her ears threaten to explode. The hilt, from what she could see, was made out of a beautiful hand carved dark wood with etchings and engravings all along the length of it.

She didn't dare examine it more, no matter how beautiful.

One look was enough.

She turned away and took several steadying breaths. She had to breathe through her nose though, it felt as though her lungs would become tainted otherwise.

She tried to figure out why he would do something like that. What would possess him to think she would appreciate something like that?

It felt like an eternity before she finally remembered the card.

The small white card that'd been slipped underneath the twine bow wrapped around the wrapping paper, the same one she'd torn to shreds.

"Fuck!" She hissed as she sifted through the remains of the paper, hoping that she hadn't destroyed that too. When her eyes caught the white corner of it peeking out from under the mess she'd made after emptying out the box she had to turn and bite her lip to keep from crying out as she pulled it free.

She ignored the sttains. She ignored the warmth and the slippery wet glisten along a good portion of the card and instead she turned it over and read:

~I've told you...

My heart is yours...

Maybe this will help you understand.

And if you're ready...

I would very much love it if you could finally give me yours~

Happy Valentine's Day Love.

"Fuck."

There she was.

And there he was.

Like a brilliant flame, she glowed and crackled.

Like a dark ice cold sentry, he watched and waited, glittering pure .

They’d never known each other.

Never seen one like the other before.

And like moths to flame they were drawn to each other.

Bewitched.

Enchanted.

Taken in by the others’ strange beauty.

When they touched he burned and she shivered.

When they kissed his lips melted and hers froze.

When they embraced and became one he burst into a myraid of white hot flames while she a slurry of sparkling, glittering icicles.

When they parted, they felt the others’ absence like a painful hollow deep in the pits of their chests.

They ached.

They hurt.

They missed.

And yearned.

They hated and feared.

They loved and loved and loved and loved until their chests felt ready to burst.

The sun.

The moon.

Two beings struggling to stay together.

Two beings forced apart.

Only once a few years can they truly be together.

Only once a few years do they meet for the first time.

As with every rise and fall of the other, they are born anew.

Imagine.

No bone melting heat as the books said there would be.

Not filled with screams or rivers of blood as far as the eye can see.

Instead.

It’s cold. Unbearably so.

Freezing and desolate with soul wrenching, aching loneliness.

Dark. Deprived. Filled with eternal emptiness.

Imagine.

Souls. What once were human souls, crying- begging for peace and respite.

Tired. So very tired.

Of the cold. Of the loneliness. Of God’s spite.

Reaching upwards for a light, a warmth that will never be theirs.

Closing their eyes against the empty solitude that is.

Offering everything they are, everything they were and everything they can be to Him.

Wishing. Praying. Begging for another chance.

Imagine.

No demons. No monsters. Just pain.

From solitude. From the cold. From rejection. From being disowned.

From solitude. From the cold.

From rejection. From being disowned.

A never, ending circle.

Imagine.

Lamenting the lives wasted.

Longing for the light. His love. His forgiveness.

Wishing to no longer be hated.

Always wanting. Always regretting. Always longing. Always-

Always, always-

Hell.