She doesn’t belong here. Hell, she doesn’t belong in the dark at all. She looks like cotton candy dunked into an ashtray. An angel who took a wrong turn on the way to heaven. She looks like she knows it too. Something primal and protective stirs beneath my skin. It’s making me consider dragging her out of here by her silk ponytail and flinging her far away to some distant sunny place, where darkness and panic attacks and other men can’t touch her. I’d keep her as happy and as perfect as the day I met her.
