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Patch me?
I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that I had to have him. He was beautiful--sixteen years of age, with entrancing mismatch eyes: the right one a creamy pool of milk chocolate, and the left a torrent of sinuous blood. His hair was the perfect shade of blonde, and always set in flawless ringlets.
Always he wore the sweetest dresses--the definition of elegant Lolita†. My favorite was an earth-tone one he loved to wear. It was velour, with a layered skirt lined in lace, and long sleeves that bellowed out over his little hands--hands that were always hugged neatly in a pair of white lace gloves. It was covered in beautiful little bows, and wonderfully decorated with lace. I liked the skirt the most, though--sweet, and simple with ribbons hanging from it every few centimeters or so. The way it puffed out, and flounced when he walked fascinated me. I found myself reaching out to touch the sweet fabric more than once--just to see if it was as soft as I imagined.
It was. . .
His make up was always just enough. Black lined his wide, trusting eyes, and a sweet pink shimmer always glistened on those full, pouty lips. He was always smiling, as if he didn't know that something was wrong with him. I couldn't help but feel bad for him--such a sweet little child born into the wrong body.
Maybe, though, that wasn't the case. Maybe he was normal as a child. I didn't know him at that age, and I can hardly speak for it--but I know him now--at the tender age of sixteen, and still thinking as if he were merely six.
It was raining out the very first day I met him. I remember that well, for he was the first sight I laid my eyes upon as I took refuge into the Tavern his brother owned. There he was, as innocent as ever, on his knees on a chair that he'd pulled to the window, one hand on the windowsill, his ski-jump nose mashed 'gainst the pane. I almost laughed when I saw him--but then, I saw that doll he held so lovingly in his arms. She was beautiful--the finest porcelain, with rosy cheeks, and curly blonde hair.
I must admit I thought him a girl at first--who wouldn't? As I stepped closer, he looked up from watching the rain, and smiled at me. My heart fluttered.
Like what you read? Read more here. Please review!!
Always he wore the sweetest dresses--the definition of elegant Lolita†. My favorite was an earth-tone one he loved to wear. It was velour, with a layered skirt lined in lace, and long sleeves that bellowed out over his little hands--hands that were always hugged neatly in a pair of white lace gloves. It was covered in beautiful little bows, and wonderfully decorated with lace. I liked the skirt the most, though--sweet, and simple with ribbons hanging from it every few centimeters or so. The way it puffed out, and flounced when he walked fascinated me. I found myself reaching out to touch the sweet fabric more than once--just to see if it was as soft as I imagined.
It was. . .
His make up was always just enough. Black lined his wide, trusting eyes, and a sweet pink shimmer always glistened on those full, pouty lips. He was always smiling, as if he didn't know that something was wrong with him. I couldn't help but feel bad for him--such a sweet little child born into the wrong body.
Maybe, though, that wasn't the case. Maybe he was normal as a child. I didn't know him at that age, and I can hardly speak for it--but I know him now--at the tender age of sixteen, and still thinking as if he were merely six.
It was raining out the very first day I met him. I remember that well, for he was the first sight I laid my eyes upon as I took refuge into the Tavern his brother owned. There he was, as innocent as ever, on his knees on a chair that he'd pulled to the window, one hand on the windowsill, his ski-jump nose mashed 'gainst the pane. I almost laughed when I saw him--but then, I saw that doll he held so lovingly in his arms. She was beautiful--the finest porcelain, with rosy cheeks, and curly blonde hair.
I must admit I thought him a girl at first--who wouldn't? As I stepped closer, he looked up from watching the rain, and smiled at me. My heart fluttered.
Like what you read? Read more here. Please review!!
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The Black Pearl
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