she was taken in a wisp of silvery moon dust.
she stumbled up to him once more, in the honey garden, aligned with gold roses, silver blossoms and crowned in glass shards, hovering in an arc, shaking beneath the star’s light. they cast shadows on his face, traced his sharp jaw. bestowed the sun on his soft, glacial eyes. he was celestial. soft like silk, hard as obsidian, heart of gold and tongue of steel. he smiled, gently, caressed her pale cheek and drew her closer. his breath curled around her lips in snowflakes. their eyes caught each other. though the earth beneath them was still, a thousand lands shook at their touch. that glance. crystals fell from her eyes, violet irises dancing in freckled light. hands carved by angels swept over her cheek, as though not to fracture her. the dust circled her ankles, pulling her away. they couldn’t be.
“and what if this is all a dream?” she cried, the whimper of someone surrendering, unwilling to be found. grudging to be taken. those hands stroked her face, longing for more as she was drawn away.
“if this is a dream…” his tongue curled around the idea. as if spitting knives, in the most tender of ways, he whispered:
“i shall kill whomever tries to wake me.”