He saw her dancing and his imagination run wild.
A mesmerizing firefly. A fiery pixie amongst bland faces. She moved gracefully, every sway filled with enchanting tease. She was his. He can feel the attraction reaching down to his bones.
She was laughing, gliding away from grabby hands and sultry glances. His temper flared. How dared they sully her divinity by their crude lust? Are they blind? Don’t they see whom they try to touch? She is the Goddess and their filthy fingers are not worth her grace.
She was his. It ranged true. His soul came to life and yearned for her embrace, urging him to step out of the shadows and claim her. He stayed put – watching her, charged with longing, desire and anger at himself. She was his and he was not worthy. He would barely qualify when he was on top of his game. Now when he was disgraced, wounded and thrown from his pedestal…He didn’t wish to finish the thought. It pained him too much.
She was dancing and she was his. He was watching but never left the shadows.