He was the epitome of beauty; his cerulean eyes gleaming like sapphires that bore into my very soul, matching the indigo of my gown. I fidgeted against the lacy sweetheart neckline that framed my broad shoulders nicely and gave me a bit more cleavage than I actually had. I bit my bottom lip: my go-to nervous tic.

Around the ballroom, couples swirled in time to the rise and lilt of the orchestra's waltz. I couldn't keep my eyes off of him--clad in white like an angel with perfect posture to match his celestial presence--as I stood against the wall by the door, ready to exit at the first inkling of discomfort. 

When he caught my eye, I quickly looked away, focusing on an imaginary spot on the gleaming wood floor and gnawing on my lip even more. I heard footsteps approaching and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bottom of white tuxedo pants with matching dress shoes. I knew it was him before I raised my gaze to see this incredible specimen before me. Quite tall with piercing blue eyes, dark wavy hair perfectly coiffed, Adonis-like physique, and a warm smile of straight and impossibly white teeth to match his tuxedo.

"May I have this dance, lovely miss?" he asked in a deeply sensual voice.

My thoughts were racing as if I were drunk, yet I hadn't had a drop. My head swirled, and my throat was dry. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I was alternatingly clenching and releasing my hands, now sweaty with anxiety. I swallowed--no, gulped--cleared my throat, and said the first thing that came into my mind. "How do you get your clothes so white? Bleach?"

He chuckled. Mortified, I turn and ran out the door.

     He was the epitome of beauty. That's what Amelia would say. I am not Amelia but even I'm starting to believe it. His ocean eyes are clear and I can see the untold story in them. His pitch black hair seems to have come straight from the night sky itself. And his jawline-- no, no, no. I am not here to gawk at handsome young men, I am here for one purpose and that purpose is to kill the king. I quickly divert your eyes towards the king on his throne his chin held high. I can almost see the air of ego floating around his head of gray hairs. I stand up causally, and as elegantly as I can in these uncomfortable heels. I lean against one of the white pillars and slowly, gracefully, slide my hand in a fold of my silver dress. I feel around until my hands are gripped around the hilt of my knife. I need to get closer for the kill.

     "Would you care for a dance."

     I gasp dropping my hand to my side and pivoting around becoming face to face with the epitome of beauty. I control my heartbeat and force myself to make eye contact.

     "Pardon?" I ask making sure I heard his tranquil voice right.

     "Care for a dance?" He repeats his voice a near whisper and coated with softness.

     I look behind to see if a prettier girl is behind me and if I'm just in the way. Nope. No one. "Me?"

     He chuckles, his laugh light and whimsical. "Of course."

     "I'm not much of a dancer," I'm more of a killer, I leave unsaid.

     "That's alright. I don't know how to dance either. We can wing it together."

     He smiles, a dimple forming on his left, perfect cheek. Perfect, perfect, perfect. My suspicion is high but so is my curiosity.

     "I guess we could waltz over to the hors dourves table."

     Again the too perfect chuckle. "That's a deal."

     And then he takes my hand, gently, and leads me towards the center of the room. We waltz, quite clumsy at first but then we soon examine the others around us and start a elegant sway.

     "Arin," he whispers in my ear, his hot breath kissing my earlobe. 

     I think of the fake name I had when I came in here. "Lillian." Crap, that's my real name.

     Arin smiles and I smile back. I know what I have to do. After I kill the king I'm going to have to kill him too.

He was the very epitome of beauty, his eyes crystal clear and his hair darker than the midnight sky. What was I next to him?-- I, with the brooding dark eyes and unkempt, greasy hair? Next to him, I was nothing. Next to him, I stood no chance at winning back the love of the woman who stood watching us-- Deirdre.

I think he knew it, too-- why else would he ask me to dance? And with such an arrogant, knowing smile stretching out his perfect jaw-- as if he could see all the thoughts in my head and found them amusing.

I wanted to decline, to tell him that I just wasn’t in the mood for dancing, and that perhaps he should go find someone else’s love to steal-- but I couldn’t say so in front of Deirdre-- not after I’d promised to try to get along with the bastard.

So we danced together. His strong hands were as smooth as Deirdre’s, and I felt suddenly self-conscious of how small and calloused my own hands were.

I scowled at him, and he, instead of kindly returning the gesture, swept me up in his arms and twirled me in the winter air-- so high and fast I could feel the cold night wind rush through my scraggly hair and down my back.

I gaped at him. Deirdre laughed-- her special laugh that never failed to send happy shivers down my spine.

Once back on solid ground, my astonished look quickly twisted into a scowl. I glared first at him, and then at Deirdre-- how could she have laughed? The man had just lifted and spun me around as if I were a ballerina! Had the woman no conscience? And him! Being tall and dark and mysterious and-- well, being him didn’t mean he had the right to treat the rest of us with no respect!

The frozen expression on both their faces enlightened me to the fact that at some point I had started to voice my angry thoughts aloud.

With that realization I closed my eyes and prayed for death-- or at the very least a dark hole to crawl into. But something much more pleasant than death came to me-- something warm and gentle that pressed up against my lips; instinctively, I returned the kiss.

When that something drew away I slowly opened my eyes, expecting to see the laughing green eyes of Deirdre. What I saw instead made my heart falter-- I was looking up breathlessly into the clear blue eyes of that man-- no, that demon-- that was trying to steal my Deirdre.

He smiled at me. I tried to glare at him, but I couldn’t summon the right emotion for it.

Deirdre shrugged at me, and that hint of a smile hidden somewhere in her seemed to become more prominent as she began to walk away, her dark red hair swirling behind her in the icy air.

I stared, mouth slightly open, watching her.

Immediately, a warm weight settled around my shoulders. I didn’t have to look to know that it was him.

And though I knew that it was pointless, I shrugged away from what I’m sure was meant to be a comforting gesture and ran, calling after Deirdre. But my lonely voice was lost amid the floating snowflakes, along with his frustrated sigh.

He was the epitome of beauty, his eyes crystal clear- sapphires caught in the black; a mask adored his face, sculpting his jaw. Hair like the night sky fell down to his waist. In contrast, he stood there in pure white, shimmering in the chandelier light. With the elegance of an angel, he held out his hand, silently asking me for a dance.

I took a deep breath and let a smile cover my face and brighten my eyes.

I placed my hand in his, he clasped it tight. My palm was hot and sweaty, his was cool, marble like- opposites attract don’t they say? it was always that way. I was the nervous one, when fight or flight kicks in- I flew. He was always cool, calm and collected, like he had had thousands of years to practice.

He lead me out onto the dance floor. A string quartet filled the room, and my ears- Light and smooth, just like the way he danced; just like the way he made me dance.

Vibrant colours blended in twists and turns, lifts and flicks as we moved onto the floor. Couples joined by hands, couples joined at hips.

Gliding around to the music. Dancing a Tango. Precise steps, dominate steps, every single one. 

He twirled me away, then swung me back in. He lowered me down and my eyes passed over the wall of mirror.

I was the only one there, suspended in air.

Surrounded in this world, alone in the mirror.

But soon I will vanish just like the rest.

I looked back up to the sapphire eyes so warm, so comforting, so dead on the other side.

My Vampire and I.

He was the epitome of beauty, and itʼs strange that Iʼd never realized it before. I looked into his face every day since we were born. Maybe itʼs conceited or selfish that I find my twin brother suddenly so gorgeous since we share mostly the same face and all…

Ah, well.

"Anise," his grip on my arm tightens comfortably, "dance with me."

"Why?"

"Why so reluctant?" He retorts with his glowing smile.

"Go find a girl that's not your sister to dance with," I suggest coldly, not making any move to pull myself away from him.

"What other girl?" He asks breathlessly, snaking his arm from my elbow to around my waist. "Come on now, Ani, you always danced with me at parties like this before."

"Aric," I huff. Really, he's right, and I do want this to be like the other parties we went to with mother and father when we were children, but this is my coming-out ball and were no longer children.

"Did they really break you at that finishing school?" Aric asks condescendingly. "Where's my best friend who I used to sneak cakes with? Where's my sister, my twin?"

"You're incorrigible," I deadpan, crossing my arms but leaning into his embrace.

"Big words," he teases. "Ani, please dance with me?" His fingers rest on my chin, guiding it up to meet his crystal blue eyes with my own.

"Fine," I growl, my tone not at all matching the smile that breaks my stony facade.

"Yes!" Aric practically squeals, taking my black gloves hand and leading me into the edges of the swirling mass of partygoers. As he rests his empty hand on my waist and begins to spin me around in the enthusiastic way I remember, Aric rests his chin on my head.

"I'm glad you're finally back from finishing school," he mutters, barely discernible over the classical violins and chatter.

"I am too, Aric," I agree. Sighing and resting my forehead on his arm, I think to myself, And I'll never deny you a dance again.

She wore a smooth smile

She was the light of the sky

She smiled at every passer by

She felt lonely in her heart

He was the epitome of beauty

His eyes crystal clear

His hair darker than the night sky

His jaw perfectly sculpted

He stood there wearing white

She wore some shade which resembled white

She scanned through the crowd

She froze her gaze at the angelic stature

She hoped she could accost that man

She wondered if she was dressed right

He saw her

He froze

He decided to smile from a distance

He didn't know when he was next to her already

He offered his hand

She took it

He danced

She flew

He was happy

She was ecstatic

He was ecstatic

She was happy

We was under formation

They were dancing

Like they wouldn't ever stop

The song would never end

He wasn't sure he wanted to leave

She certainly didn't want to leave

She held tight

He held tighter

He wasn't an angel

She wasn't either

eventually they realised it

She wasn't a devil

He wasn't either

They realised this too

They were just two humans

Who wished it always remained the same

Ever since he entered the ball, all eyes had been on him. 

Whether it was his crystal eyes that captured every maiden, 

Or his hair that reminds me of the night, that night that would be remembered, 

Or his smile that captivates the moonlight even at such a distance, 

Something about him made me never forget that night.

Compare me to him, brown and plain,

My eyes a dull blue without life nor vigor,

Yet he turned to me, and offered his hand,

I am hyperventilating, yet only in the inside.

I must appear calm, that's what I said to myself.

I could still remember the last time I met him.

We were in a fight, and he left.

He left me all alone, to cope up with broken pieces.

And now here he is, smiling, finally at home.

His wife came from behind him, and looked at me.

Pure disgust that was what I thought I would find.

But it was only just unshed tears and understanding.

I pulled myself up through my cane,

My wrinkled hands grasped his shoulders,

"I'm proud of you, my son."

    There is no light to contrast in a room with no windows, no beads of sun to caress the face and kiss the brow. Licking and warming it to a gentle furrow. About the mind there is a body, outside that body a room. There hangs from the ceiling beaded chandeliers of glossy light, casting brilliant reflections along the floral printed walls. Candelabras watching about themselves, casting shadows as a scepter of light would, or perhaps a golden pitchfork holding sticks of brilliant fire. Ceilings sloping. She moves in elegance or is it an ephemeral jest? A cacophonous announcement of joy in lightly thrown steps and carelessly strewn pirouettes. To be a singular entity, one outside itself. Although others were present it seemed as though she was the only to really exist.

    There in the empty space exists another, a stranger in candid stance. A rock in the stream, strangers flowing about him as if he was not there, how? Naturally. He existed just beyond the skirts of reality. Hair of raven, thick with the dreams of women and nightmares of men. Hand outstretched as if an invitation. Hers raised loosely above tangles of pearly locks. Brilliant white cloaked about him as though light from above came jutting in through the ceiling in a great blaze of fire, now heaving and walls whispering about them. Contrast in the night. A figure of divine shape and chivalry. Perhaps reluctance forms itself a physicality, it resides in the man's shadow. It resides in the walls. In the faceless strangers who seemed to have slowed their dance, weaving fingers together and bracing hands. Reluctance, could that be all? A fear perhaps inviting into her realm, her sanctity, another. His eyes seemed to look through her. She gazed back as though they commanded it.

    Were there even strangers at the ball? A stillness ensumed, metaphysical presence by the creature before her. Too shadowy to be conceived as real yet still she stared, still she stretched her hand to greet his own. The room now reeled, walls becoming shadows in the inky black carapace of the evening. Looming figures replaced in the nothingness that surrounded them. Identity becoming consumed by solid darkness. Did they exist before? Was she even truly there? He pressed his body to hers and entwined together they fall into the abysmal stretch, music once booming now a muffled whisper in the back of her head. His eyes were prisons. Empty space inviting in the reflection of a dancing coquette.  

    Angel, devil, demon in white. What does it matter? She feels a weight, hot as flame and just as blue and brilliant in the press of his body. There is a sudden magnetic pull, silent demand. A lack of presence in his eyes. His fixation on her glowing pools of consciousness, stringing threads into her soul with hooks of desire. The tip of her tongue felt heavy and out of place in her mouth. She licked her lips. Wrong. Is it wrong? To sense in another the essence of evil, to know there is no boundary, that there is inherent self interest, sensual and shameless drive for satisfaction. Darkness. She breaks his gaze for but a moment to see there is nothing left. Without light there exists no walls, without sound there exists no life. Without life there exists no man, yet still he stands. Where is she?

    Stygian, a looming insignificance in the absolution of all life. The forgiveness of being by the unforgiving grasp of night. The presence of nothingness. Lacking. Ringing, Ceaseless. There is nothing. There is no sound. There is no breath in a room without air, a room without walls. The floor dissipates, and into nothing she falls. It is only them, there exists nothing. He is skirting about the edge of reality. He breathes not in air but in poetry and prose. He makes no sound but that of music. He is both beautiful and terrifying. Still she falls, She is not certain where she is headed. Her head is not in the future, nor is it in the past, merely in the present.

    Downward

                     Spiraling

                                  Horror

                                             Exists

                                                      And

                                                             In

                                                                 Itself,

                                                                          Love.. 

There is no light to contrast in a room with no windows, no beads of sun to caress the face and kiss the brow. Licking and warming it to a gentle furrow.

There in the empty space exists another, a stranger in candid stance.

Were there even strangers at the ball?

There is nothing...

And it all feels...

Familiar.

"May I have this dance," purred the handsome stranger. 

His eyes crystalline sparkles beneath hair layered like the night sky. His sculpted jaw cradled a grin. He stood there, palm outstretched he was like an angel dressed in white.

My spit-take sprayed grape juice all over his white shirt. The gentleman promptly screamed.

"Uh come again?" I squeaked. Forget the romantic vision. I pinched myself realizing I was being hit on. The deer in the head lights gaze I had didn't help matters.

In the dim ambiance of the bar he looked kind of cute until lights hit revealing the pockmarks where pimples once erupted. I gagged.

This kid was, I’m sure of it, ten years my junior when he implied, “Are you single?”

"You know I'm suddenly very busy tonight,” I lied, "At home with my kids who are your age, I’m too old.”

It wasn't a total lie. I went home to two dogs. In dog years they were this spring chicken's age. They're the closest thing I have to kids. With one large lab across my lap. Her little buddy squished in the crook of my arm. I had a much safer time with them and a good book than I did at the bar.