The woman’s long hair obscures her face as she giggles into her chest. She covers her smile with a small, demure hand. A black dress jacket tailored for a man hangs over her shoulders, shielding her from the cold. Underneath, a skimpy white camisole is visible. Pyjama bottoms two inches too long, a conscious choice or perhaps a current style. Her feet are bare. Tiny white toes poke out from her pants as they scuffle through the dirt. She walks with tiny, pigeon-toed steps, making it hard to keep up with the steady, rhythmic strides of her long-legged partner. The young man wears simple but stylish black shoes, black dress pants, and a white dress shirt that could be designer, a handsome though nondescript ensemble. His face is long and narrow, framed by jet-black hair that flows neatly over his brow, but not enough to cover his ears. He wears two beaded bracelets on his gaunt, pale wrists: one is obsidian, as dark as his own hair; the other is a vivid ruby, the same colour that flows through his veins. There is something in the curve and fullness of his lips and cheeks that is captivating, and his skin, with a natural hint of peach, makes the cold sharpness of his eyes stand out. That is something else unique about him. His eyes are not brown, but an unnatural, pale, icy grey. He stares straight ahead, focused on his intended destination, cool and oblivious to his companion. His demeanour is gentle but serious as he holds the woman’s hand and guides her down the road.

The young woman’s body shakes harder and harder with muffled titters as she sneaks shy glances at him. Surely such enigmatic beauty would catch anyone’s attention; make hearts flutter with minimal effort beyond eye contact and an outstretched hand. However, it was the one next to him who had really captivated her, the one who had singled her out. Out of all the women he could have, he had pointed at her. He had chosen her. Now, her dream is about to come true.