He watched her move through the crowd and saw her mere presence send them parting with no heed. Her feet seemed to glide above the ground, with no care for the mortal laws of physics, (but that made absolute sense). Confidence clung to her, getting sharper with each step taken and head turned. As it should. As he knew it would.
She looked like the fallen angel, armed will all the beauty Hell could devise. And given that it vanity bore its very presence it was plentiful and powerful. Her every curve was a magnet drawing in your soul. Every blink was a shock through your heart. Every brush as she passed was an inferno in your veins.
She was beautiful, yes, but in the way storms were beautiful. Destructive; electric and terrifying. She was everything you feared; loved; needed. She embodied everything that ever haunted nightmares or sent ice into your blood. Her hair hung down, writhing behind as if with a mind of it's own.
She held the risk of a woman who knows her worth innumerable and immeasurable. Her damage made her dark and deadly. Her love was as lethal as having your heart wrenched from within, as she'd proven many times. She knew that she was exquisite.
Like edges and thunderstorms. Arrows and sharpened blades. Danger and spiked silver.
Yes, she was beautiful. But it was the beauty that came from forest fires in the height of summer. It was the beauty that came from the stars as one took their last breath. The beauty that came from turning a 400,000-foot fall into a ballet. Because it was her chaotic soul that made her so beautiful. It was the beauty that deadly things always held. She wasn't a woman but a tornado with skin.
He didn't fear much he feared the devil before him, masquerading blood as lipstick. He feared her ability to bring him to his knees with a glance.
And that was what stopped him from walking down those stairs into her line of sight. That was what had him turning around to disappear into the light for as long as he could stand to.