Disclaimer: Taken and its characters belong to Steven Spielberg, Leslie Bohem, SciFi Channel, etc. Please do not sue.

Frantic

She can be so frantic so much of the time.

Spiraling, spinning out of control as emotions get the best of her young mind; heart over matter. Her emotions run so strong - they equal her intelligence, or at least her desire for knowledge. Half the time she doesn’t even notice how hot she’s burning.

Her flames are white.

He always liked white. There’s something about all colors of the spectrum combining to make what is considered to be the purest color; it’s raw, and he loves that. He loves that about her; his Mary is always raw.

That cool exterior can fade away so easily; she won’t even notice. Her white flames burn too brightly, and she can’t even tell she's ablaze.

He can feel as frail and fragile as a moth when he’s around her. He feels something inside flutter whenever he’s near her white hot flames.

She’s frantic so much of the time.

Excited, delighted when they’re alone and those emotions of hers get the best of her; mind over matter means so little when they share a bedroom. She’s quick and clever; she’s always burning white and beaming with pride when she aces the quiz of making him flutter on the outside.

They talk and talk. Sometimes mind does matter; sometimes it’s nothing but idle chatter. It all means the same. It’s all communication that is secondary to the conversation going on between their bodies under the sheets.

Time and place for mind over matter.

And it’s definitely not when the flames lick white heat against the poor moth’s wings.

It’s his turn to feel frantic.