So che cosa si sente di amare due persone. I do. Loving two people is never an easy feat, no much like setting your mind, heart, and soul ablaze. Yet you need them both, so heart achingly much that you find yourself half blind with raging desire. You pray for their love, oh dear, their touch... to feel the fire blaze between your finger tips just as it lays upon your lips. Even if everyone looks down on you for it, or would if they knew of it. But that's your cross to bear.
There is the one that is truly the fires of your being, the one you hate to love. That no one loves. He is my dark angel, with fine inky curls laying against his pale temples, with such lush black lashes to set off his icy blue eyes much like London's sky.. oh how could anyone not find him ravishing? He is a prince of the darkness, dishonor he holds on his broad shoulders. But I have seen him open his ebony wings and take flight, flinging himself into the chaotic battles of Light.
And then there is the other. Oh dear, he is beautiful. Where as to the other is bright sparks raw pain against a velvety night sky he is silver bathed in moonlight beside the river's ripples. He is a true angel of Light. No one can hate him, even for his faults. His hair I have ran my fingers through, those silver locks have tumbled over my fingers and curled around my touch. His steady silver gaze steadily meets me, not to the disappointment of others. Our courtship would be welcomed. And for matters of the fact, it is not that he isn't a warrior also, indeed they both swing their blades mightily, if not for me.
As I have presented my situation, fate has so cruely tempted me. My dark angel and his brother of light. Both are brave and admiring, though is it I bow before my dark angel's hate of the world, and his amusement for it's hate of him, before I allow the cautious touch of my worthy suitor? One is the wind beneath my wings, all silver and steady support. The other is a fire that threatens to burn my wings, and forever intrap me in his arms.
So truly, I know what it is to love to beings, one so dark and magestic I can not deny, and the other so bright and welcoming I find myself fallen into his embrace. Do you blame me for my fate?
My name is Chelsa Cutlass, and this is my tale of woeful love.
It was May. May was her favorite time, a time when the rain poured in healthy sheets, when grass was full and green, a time when everything seemed to get a fresh start on life. Her hair was up today, in a way Sophia has said made her rather regal, full of dark twists and dainty curls. Chelsa sighed contently. Her dress was something of a wine color, which maired with her dark brown hair perfectly and made walking extremely easy. It didn't have many layers of skirts, or the tight corsets she had long ago gotten tired of. No, the style of dress she wore now was much looser, made movement barable. Like now as she walked steadily through the park, her parasol twirling slowly over her shoulder.
She had just wondered deep into the more deserted part of the park, where the trees were rather wild these days, when she colided with a man who had seemingly appeared from no where.
She jumped back, overly concious of the swear words spilling from his pouty lips. "-it! Where did you come from?" He was stunningly taller then her, nearly six five, and had just incredatiously put his hands on his hips. She looked up from his mouth with a start and peered into unrealistically blue eyes. They were so blue her breath caught. Above them black spikes dripped wetly onto her forehead. "Um..." She trailed unentellgently.
He stopped moving an ddropped his hands, eyes wide. "You can hear me?" He asked. His accent was not the typical British she had grown accustomed to but something much like her own American one.
She looked at him like he had grown a third eye. "Indeed, sir, I am not deaf." He blinked and she inwardly chuckled at how sarcastic her own voice had sounded. Then she winced. After all that was not how a woman adressed a man.
He seemed to be less startled now and instead was grinning at her lazily. "Well, miss, rather if you were or not your shouldn't be able to see me." He paused and raised his eyebrows at her. "At all."
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