That was her, and that was her when she was first seen by him.
His swords hadn’t succeeded to even graze her skin. His arrows landed on distant trees. His anger at his own failure had earned him a small smile from her lips.
That morning was pale and the temperature felt uncomfortable. The trees were dark and almost bare: all the colors of fall had fallen to the ground.
Those same fallen colors of that same dull season had come together to create the color of her hair, and he swore he’d never hate October again. The gray sky reflected in her eyes, and he knew he’d love cloudy days from then on.
He couldn’t hear her footsteps as she walked away on the natural carpet of dead and dry leaves.
His blade lay abandoned on the forest floor, his hands awkwardly empty. A droplet of blood ran down his neck from where her unseen weapon had touched him, forcing the attacks to cease if he wanted to live.
And now he wished he hadn’t stopped. He wished he’d died then, that he had never seen her and watched her move and looked into those eyes full of life and stared at those lips curved into a disdainful smile.
He was doomed.
She really was everything he’d heard about her: a hurricane of red and metal; a gentle zephyr that teased his senses and then slipped through his longing fingers.
Wind had stolen all the air from his lungs.
Blood Red Candy 13: Seeing Red