WickedLittleChild

May thee be cursed to live upon the blood of once thine own kind, lest thee wish to wither and parish from famine. May thee be cursed to fear the touch of the Sun’s warming rays, lest thee wish for thy flesh to burn and thine ashes be taken by the wind. May thee be cursed to walk as an eternal corpse, condemned, lest thee face thy God, thy creator, and be denied.

He was perfect. Perfection in every way, everything I dreamed of. Angular body, chiseled features with a complexion so flawless it could have been porcelain.   His lips were full and had the hue of a rose, stretching in a heavenly smile; making me melt.  His eyes were of crystal blue, thoughtful and soul-searching, causing me to lose my breath. Locks of gleaming gold tumbled down past his shoulders, curls and ringlets framing his face. He was like nothing I had ever seen, looks not found in the modern world.  Maybe he was a DaVinci or Michelangelo painting come to life? He was perfect, so perfect it almost