Happy birthday! I wish you the very best!

Roses die,
The secret is inside the pain
Winds are high up on the hill
I cannot hear you
Come and hold me close
I'm shivering cold in the heart of rain
Darkness falls, I'm calling for the dawn

Every Time You Kissed Me, Emily Bindinger

She has always loved poetry.

She can still remember her first encounter with poems, her fingers ghosting across the sweet-smelling pages with childlike, innocent awe. It felt almost sacred, having such alluring beauty at her fingertips; such enchanting words that had been too overpowering to understand at that time.

Most children wouldn't trouble themselves with such complications. Her parents had been quite bewildered –if not entirely incredulous- upon finding her small, dainty head bowed over the wondrous books; deeply immersed in a world full of secrets, lovers and bloodstained passions, with an air of tragedy surrounding all the beauty.

She had lost herself somewhere deep within her own mind, trapped in the twists and bends of her dreams, and her only save haven had become the deep crimson gaze of a demon that was no less than an angel to her.

He is so cold, so distant and unearthly; a fallen angel in all his glory. And yet she somehow loves that about him. Perhaps because she had always felt everything to the extreme.

Human emotions seem to be below him, but the warm spark in his eyes when he looks at her assures her that her colourful dreams are not doomed to always remain mere dreams.

He is darkness and she is light. He is flawless in his bloodstained perfection, and she is pure and innocent and so very wrong for him.

She adores him in every way, and she can't fathom quite why; maybe because he doesn't feel entirely real to her. He is too dark and stained to belong in her dreams, and she wants it so desperately; that wish that isn't hers but has been granted.

She sometimes wonders, when his arms curve around her small figure and whisk her away into a frozen passion wherein there's only lips and fingertips and sweet whispered confessions, why it had been him.

For several years of numbness, she had waited from inside her own world, peeking out at life, wondering how it would feel once the gentle, pure soul of someone else touched her heart.

It had never. And instead, she had been lured into a crimson passion by a twisted smile and words laced with a silken cruelty. He is everything she has always dreamed of, except with a dark halo that she hadn't foreseen. He is truly a work of art; so beautiful and deceiving that she can't help but fall for him.

Those dark poetic gestures that she had always found so fascinating are now a part of her life; white robes stained with blood, entangled bodies in shadows of the starlight and scattered rose petals about her chambers.

She sometimes misses her kind-hearted Prince Charming. Sometimes wonders if she would be happier with staring into warm and sinless eyes, instead of the passionate crimson gaze that had seduced her ever since she looked into them. And yet, she knows all too well that that happiness would terrify her far more than this dark romance she has with her Lucifer. Happiness has always been a fleeting spark in her life; a blissful moment of joy that disappeared all too soon, leaving her empty and broken hearted.

It is the best she can ever have. She can't possibly deny that when she feels so safe in his cold arms with his gold Volturi pendant pressed against her soft cheek.

They both have had their own dark shadows, their own demons and haunted pasts chasing after them, and had chosen to embrace them instead of running away from the pain.

She doesn't expect others to understand. She can almost imagine the astonished, questioning glances of those who used to be her world. But she can't care any less. She doesn't need some cliché romance, not when he looks at her like he's seeing an eternity.

She doesn't mind the lack of innocence. Not when he makes love to her under the stars as though she's the only thing that makes his life worth living.

She doesn't need to live a fairytale when she can drown in his flawless unreality, the way he touches her all the time; soft ghostly caresses over her shoulder blades, idle fingers dancing across her thighs, chaste lips falling feather light on her collarbone.

Because it's more than enough, just watching him smile. More than enough to know he loves her enough to change, to strain his thirst. Because no amount of sunlight can compare to the light in his eyes when she melts into his embrace.

Maybe she's out of her mind, but she can't help but feel it's more meaningful this way. Instead of being thrown at each other by the hands of Fate, they have earned their peace by themselves, by work and time; time marked with tears and despair and blood.

Because nothing worth having comes easy. And maybe that's not the great romance she had always dreamed of, but it's quite immense for her.