"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return..."

-Genesis 3:19



The man was tall, not exceptionally muscular nor slender like many tall people were, but a lean height as though the body could not decide to be wasted or bulked; it was not something most noticed, though, not with the pale eyes of ice that flickered blue and then red with a burning that brought chills to one's spine when looked directly into. Tangled blonde hair - limp and moderately thick, locks that brushed his thin, long shoulders - a bright yellow that shone like cornsilk, and a smug manner of walking, one that spoke silently of his confidence in himself, all hid the almost sheltering way he positioned his arms.

He drew attention, yes, with the way he appeared to be a man in spite of the plaid overshirt and the jeans with a slashed hole in the knee, little things that were a teenager's sign of rebellion; and it was only when one looked closely at the youthful curve to his cheeks, the hale and overwhelmingly young glint of his shocking eyes, that it was clear he was not a man, not entirely. When he smiled, it was bold and freely sensuous, but also dark and hesitant, as though he was not used to the sunlight in all its radiant heat. Certainly he was pale enough in the colors of his skin to be a recluse, someone who feared the light and stayed in darkness, but it was testified often amongst the gossipers that he could be seen nearly every day in the park or the track, on one of those hideous damned motorcycles or racing with whatever child dared him to.

He was free, it seemed, but also shackled; tall and bold, but hiding a deep fear; everything and at once nothing.

And then she came into presence, glowing like sunlight though her manner as she boarded the trolley was that of one new to a land unvisited - had she moved, then? - and in the back of the trolley, in the last seat where he could dig his fingers in the mess of chocolate melting in the summer heat, he stared at her. It was a shock, a perpetual jolt of electricity that stabbed him cruelly in the spine and lanced up, twirling in his skull and causing him to hesitate, fingers motionless as he watched her sit down. He had lived long enough - a bittersweet silver eternity, caught in the half-realm of life mingled with death - to recognize the scent of innocence, something that existed in rare spurts here and there in the bold, immoral world of the now.

Red-blonde hair and skin as pale as his, a sickly shade of white like that of one who has spent many days indoors with illness, and a gentle look to her face so unlike his brother's cool, apathetic expressions; she smelled of virgin blood, too, a distant flesh that was not pierced and a heart that shooed the untainted blood of her essence along the corridor veins. Rarity, then, that had stepped unknowing on the territory of that which was unsafe, of fresh blood that did not have from time long past the taint of his kind; she was still pure human, and pure in the greatest sense of the word.

He stared at her, absently licking the gooey chocolate from his fingers and wrapping the foil back over it, and though he felt a foreign and thoroughly unneeded ache in his body, he wondered how long that innocence would last.



End! {of the prologue}


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Originally posted at Damn Potter! [http://anna.e.w.tripod.com/damnpotter].