POIGNANT.

Misfortune found her, the downpour a restless orchestration that flowed to the tempo of her own exhales. It crashed and collided like a mantra, breathe in, breathe out, over and over. But she was a child favored by divinity, and soon, the drum of falling raindrops became no more than a distant staccato. And her ‘miracle’ would only answer “oops" , the man’s lips sloping into a one-sided smile. Blessings, it seems, came in all shapes and sizes.

“Manage? Is that hope speaking or stubbornness?” Daegil wondered with the raise of a brow, gaze steady as he followed her movements. His startling blacks found themselves caught in the wave of striking greens ( brilliant and sublime, and if his were reminiscent of dark, empty worlds, hers emulated the dawn of life ). “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere any time soon,” he noted after a quick glance at her vehicle. “Maybe a hospital if you plan on catching a cold out here, but—" his head tilted to the slightest degree, focus sharpening minutely "—I don’t think it’d be wise of you to do that or fair of me to let it happen.” And his tone was as light as ever, harmlessly joking. “Against my character: gentleman, Good Samaritan, etcetera...”

            ‘ haven't you heard?                   a little hope goes a long way. ’

there's a jest posed upon her lips in spite of abhorrent situation, carmine tiers curving ever so slightly that it would take a skilled eye to notice what mirth bids wry corners. she'll have to concede to him, however ( this handsome stranger with his clever words ) ; the clouds are all but ceasing in their deluge, darkly saturated and surely unforgiving as they rumble across the gloaming skies---- and with every drop that strikes the sidewalk, another one of her options vanish.

a violent shiver soon dissipates the simper as it travels down her spine. sylphlike form trembles faintly beneath the moist, verdant silk that clings to her as though a second skin, the inverness cape draping svelte shoulders ill-prepared for such frigid weather. a step is involuntarily taken into the umbrella's inner canopy, refuge sought by the muted clack of lacquered heels. eyes flicker to her ` poor baby ` parked by the curb ( sleek and of her own design, still to make its public debut ) as he speaks, acknowledgement indicated by the barest nod of her crown. she would have to return and repair the engines at a later time; when the skies are clear and she is not threatened by the prospect of pneumonia.

yet, wariness still bides her acceptance into his goodwill, ` chivalry ` synonymous to caution within her own dictionary. ( pretty boys are too often the disguise of ravenous wolves. )

He was a kind man ( a truth echoed by few ). He was a generous man ( yet a lie resonated by many ). And, as such, Daegil would quicken his pace, footsteps joined by the rhythm-less splash of rainfall. The sky hung dark and heavy, the backdrop to a symphony of a deluge both chaotic and torrential. Messy. Dark. Fortunate, then, that an umbrella now shielded her from the shower, its owner breathlessly saying, “hey, I said to hold on. I swear, I almost got pneumonia just watching you walk through this storm…” Shaking his umbrella, he prodded, “you forget something?”

            ‘       of all the days                   to be missing a wrench. ’

she is not a profane woman by nature, yet with another vexed glance at the inclement skies ( are there goddesses crying for their fathers' iniquities as well? ), the urge to spew forth her own caustic shower is narrowly suppressed by the sneeze that parts maraschino liqueur lips in a violent daze. the clipboard held above her head is poor shield against the gelid deluge; fingers of the other palm fumble with her phone to call for a taxi yet they're frozen stiff---- useless appendages often sliding across the slick surface instead of punching in the intended numbers.

the rain is so loud she doesn’t hear him at first, not until he has caught up to her pace. for a brief moment she wonders if perhaps the skies have paused in their torrent; if they had found her conditions too miserable and pitied her. but then, that thought is promptly dismissed as ears catch the smooth tessitura of a low baritone, lithesome form pivoting upon low heels. jadeites are able to discern the finely-angled features of a stranger with eyes pitch black ( void of celestial stars, its dust pulsing through their veins ) and widened as he gasped for breath. they pause, flicker to the umbrella, and then teeter to his gaze with a moment's shake of sable crown.

            ‘ —— none of us did,                  but you needed all that time! ’

clad of worn leather, fingers splay afore lithesome self as though she was soothing a wounded predator. she is wholly livid, the avatar ( and aqueous eyes narrate the tale of igneous meteorites streaking against the starless skies, tragedies written upon rough-hewn surface yet echoing with the promise of more ) ; desperation undermines the carmine fury of snarled words, differing strands of vocal chords woven raw with emotions that aches and licks at piteous flesh—— an outlet sought, granted by her feverish outburst and a huff of wispy smoke from flared nostrils.

aurora's daughter speaks of alethia in pure concentration, elusive veritas siring a candid tongue, the art of savoir faire embraced. a mollifying hand places upon the tense shoulder of her friend— tone aiming to assuage mandated onus ( atlas’ worldly weight, destiny and divinity burdening the mortal psyche ). in spite of differing juvenescence, they have all been thieved of the spring of their youths, and nothing could be felt more ardently, echo so hollow, than loss.