A Twilit Fancy
I walked into the cafe, and my eyes instantly met his. Like a chiseled, adolescent god of uncertain gender, his face was. Marble skin and eyes that penetrated to such depth, beneath perfectly sculpted eyebrows. He looked shocked to see me, and covered his nose immediately.
I knew why.
He was going to change my life forever. He stood up, muscles rippling with a particular hunger beneath his tight shirt. He swirled a long black jacket over his shoulders, but not before the door opened, and the last rays of light fell upon him. His skin was radiant. His arms and face glittered with destiny, sparkled with promise.
I knew him for what he was by that skin. He ducked his face and tried to move past me, but I rose, face rose as I stood in his way.
“Wait,” I said.
He looked away, “I’m late for an engagement. And you smell.”
“I know you want me,” I told him. “I know what you are. You can’t read my thoughts.”
“I can,” he spat. “What do you take me for, a Mormon hero? Get out of my way, you dependent twit.”
I tried to grab onto his coat, to hold his perfection with me, but he pushed me against a table, and strode to the door, with powerful steps.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a drag ball to get to.”