Skin
Heat
Hair
Eyes; she's looking up at me again.
Her eyes.
Green-blue-grey-gold sparks of magic in an otherwise dull world.
She knows how to make me beg with those eyes - mainly because she understands that I can deny her nothing.
She is okay with that.
She is okay with my powerlessness in the face of her beauty.
I am not okay, for I am always weak and unready to face her as she takes the hand of the boy that she has chosen and walks away.
She expects me to follow her out of loyalty, out of trust.
She know that I will follow, but she thinks that it is because of our "friendship".
She doesn't know how far I've already fallen.