Captured Prince

His eyes were so intense she could never look away. He spoke in such a manner that one could feel uneducated on the issue even if it were their expertise and ill advised to disagree. His touch deterred her from paying full attention to his words but could make her reel when he pulled away. He painted pictures in her mind to make her question what was real. For her the sense of his attention spread out like fingertips of ice aching deeper than the depths of hell.

How long had she searched only to not know what to do once the truth stood before her? How long had he listened before appearing as the answer? Giving the chance to understand what she had become too afraid to face in the mirrors reflection.

This captured prince opens his eyes to take in the fading light of day… it seems it always starts this way. He lies languidly while waking. Terrified in the enraptured state of being before her. Unwise it would be, so close to waking from such a deep sleep, to be as close and warm as she was. He latched on to the intoxicating ambrosia of her skin, how he had wanted to taste every bit of her as he watched her spark grow dim, and he felt alive again. Deadly touch from those, who cannot be given in trust but must take in fevered lust from those whose hearts beat warm blooded, deafening the pounding in his ears.