04-25-2014, 07:25 AM
To Spectra, a frozen heart was not the same as an absent one. Freezing what was once warm and soft was a far different description than to be empty of compassion. Her ire deepened the intensity of her scrutiny, one that grew with every passing block they walked without conversation. What she earlier found captivating in Damien, now that the lights of their stage and the acting before an audience was lost to the curtain at the end of a show, she now found to be a waste of her time. He was the footstool upon which more powerful men rested. To maintain her interest in such an individual required the promise of more intrigue than a pretty face; pretty faces were abundant in the glitzy world of celebrities.
"Tengo frío,"
her reply bit sharply, but she added the English translation, "I am cold,"
as amends. Yet at the same time she observed his oblivion to her position. Such was the ignorance of men. Hood gave her his coat for warmth to endure the few steps between a building and the car parked in front of it. Damien lured her into the Moscow city streets, far from the lights of Manifesto's block, in a club dress and heels with not but a fur coat wafting tentacles of cold up her legs.
A fire began in her eyes, and she saw him with crystal clarity. In the depths of his question, she met his gaze with equal fearlessness. His attention grated like scars on her skin. He could have had her all this night, but he failed to impress, and Spectra suffered nothing less than perfection in her treasures. True to her promise, every man in her life would be compared to someone else, and so far, they were coming up short.
"You could have had all of me, Damien."
She teased him like a spider entertaining the idea of a mate, only at the last minute deciding to devour him instead. "But you will not,"
she decreed with no more compassion than sentencing a man to his beheading and wishing to be done with their business.
She unfolded a phone square from her handbag, intending to request a car. She was not going to walk back.
"Tengo frío,"
her reply bit sharply, but she added the English translation, "I am cold,"
as amends. Yet at the same time she observed his oblivion to her position. Such was the ignorance of men. Hood gave her his coat for warmth to endure the few steps between a building and the car parked in front of it. Damien lured her into the Moscow city streets, far from the lights of Manifesto's block, in a club dress and heels with not but a fur coat wafting tentacles of cold up her legs.
A fire began in her eyes, and she saw him with crystal clarity. In the depths of his question, she met his gaze with equal fearlessness. His attention grated like scars on her skin. He could have had her all this night, but he failed to impress, and Spectra suffered nothing less than perfection in her treasures. True to her promise, every man in her life would be compared to someone else, and so far, they were coming up short.
"You could have had all of me, Damien."
She teased him like a spider entertaining the idea of a mate, only at the last minute deciding to devour him instead. "But you will not,"
she decreed with no more compassion than sentencing a man to his beheading and wishing to be done with their business.
She unfolded a phone square from her handbag, intending to request a car. She was not going to walk back.