A/N : My first attempt at writing Tsengith. A wannabe drabble/poor excuse for a one-shot. Also, an experimentation of sorts. Reviews would be muchly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


She is radiant as she waters the flowers in the Church:

over and over

and over and over.

Her spiraled brunette curls fall into her glowing face, and roses bloom to life in her pale apple cheeks as she smiles blissfully to herself amidst falling beams of pale sunlight. She is so concentrated on her task of nurturing the delicate little plants to life that she doesn't even notice her captivated audience.

She is --


And Planet knows, he is no Prince Charming.

(He's the mindless lackey. The one who follows blindly; into the darkness he goes. He's the one who does as he is told without question and thinks with his head, not his heart, even when she gazes up at him with those impossibly wide green orbs and begs for him to let her go.)

He is no Prince Charming. She is not his to love.