#fuckingaiden

{ This is an IC diary entry }

An enchanting story with not very noble beginnings will be the topic of this entry. It all started at the stairs by the entrance to the party. We dubbed each other Mister and Missus Brooksfield. It was clear that ours was an intimate affair by the way my hand clung to his arm. After passing the most dangerous part of the act -- getting in when you're not on the list -- the world ceased to be and everything became the here and now. The warmth of his hand on my back was the gateway to each savory scent and delectable sight in the room with the arching ceiling. A hand he soon used to guide me further down the rabbit hole just as the melody settled into a slow but emotional pace. My intentions for that night were to make a little extra money by stealing some jewels and fine garments, but I did not walk out with a single one. Nothing could hold my attention as strongly as he did when we danced.

Without his usual hat, it was easier for the light to reach his eyes. Details about his nose and cheeks were clearer and better defined. As our bodies swayed, snug and delicate, colors flew over his head, bringing a different element to his smile with each one. I felt oddly self-aware. There was a slight pounding in my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood and I could not shake off the wave of goosebumps flying down my arms. I remember looking down at his lips - how they curled behind the mustache - but before I could keep thinking about them, they moved away. With my gaze barely making it back to his own, I felt them.

And there it was - he kissed me. I honestly thought for a moment I had exploded. That this had all been a trap and we had been blown up. Of course this was not the case, but at the time it seemed like a compelling argument. It was all so jarring. It had the power to disturb the most blackened, depraved and disillusioned parts of my soul -- but I could still hear the music. The notes echoed through the symphonic room with little effort and overflowing clarity. That is when I realized I was still alive and that this was something I had felt before. The spark. One of the most powerful and ancient emotion a person can hope to experience. For all of the riches, the fame and the glory, nothing will ever compare. It is capable of pushing us to do great, extraordinary and noble things but it is also equally capable of drawing the most wretched, cruel and terrifying thoughts and turning them into actions. Within it, creation and destruction live harmoniously. How could I not kiss him back? The pull only got stronger when I did -- which is why now, that is all I can think about.

Thankfully, a talk with Wilder has reminded me of what it means to be alive. My problem is that I am scared, not that I am incapable. Though we remain unofficial, I cannot deny the connection that is there. The one I have yet to fully understand. Wilder is a woman who decided to be bold enough to open herself to someone, only to have that person carelessly drop it. Fucking Aiden. She reminded me that if she was brave enough to try it again, then I should be too. This is  one of my favorite qualities about her. Nobody should be alone in the world.

@thewildercard