Beautiful Disaster

Her name was Alaria, Alaria of evondale. She was alive, full of breath and life, sorrow and love, and then she was dead.

She thought how beautiful the leaves looked during fall, and how the colors of each leaf was never fully just one color. She stared, and became lost in the thought of those colors, barely feeling the breeze push the stray locks of her hair across her neck, as the sun kissed her skin. When she heard his footsteps, he had already snuck up behind her, his breath replacing the breeze on her skin. She just continued to stare, remaining lost in her thoughts and the apple red stain on a yellow leaf. She wondered if she turned to look at him, to acknowledge his piercing silver eyes, if it would make it all go away. The pain that filled that blackness within her soul, the ache that tore pieces from her heart each day, even the seduction that death promises her with each night's slumber. Could he really cradle her and make it all go away? She dared not look, but he interrupted her thoughts, and it was inevitable. She turned slowly, gazing upon the each thing that came within her sight as she turned, like a carousel that goes round and round, your eyes catching the first thing that comes within sight. But there he was, as she faced him, blocking out the sun from her sensitive ocean blue eyes, that became lighter when the sun shone on them.

That was the beginning of the end.