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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender nor any of it’s characters is not mine.
Souls of the Departed – 2
‘She’s the One’
He pulled his coat tighter around his body. It was getting colder by the minute. – ‘God, isn’t she cold?’
He stood a reasonable distance away from her in the shadow of an ancient oak tree. He watched her, watched over her not sure what to make of the still standing figure in the grass. Not moving for more than an hour, not wavering, not shifting weight from one leg to another. Standing still, her arms wrapped around herself, but not as if she was feeling cold. She seemed to brace herself, to hold herself in order not to falter, not to give in to whatever is pulling inside her to finally give in.
She was dressed in her usual business attire. High heels not made for standing in grass, a short skirt that ended well above her knees and the matching jacket to the grey skirt. Though already dark, he still could make out the lighter colour of her blouse. Blue-like anthracite, it was silk, he could see that, for it glimmered in the light that came slightly from the inside of her house.
Perfect, it fit her perfect. But he was sure that every apparel on the face on this earth would fit her perfect, she made it perfect.
She was perfection, in his eyes anyway, and what he had experienced in the past, in many a men’s eyes just as well. Sometimes, when his life was miserable and cruel, no matter if way back then in the Centre, or now, on a tough pretend, all he had to do was close his eyes and he saw her. So much beauty. No matter how difficult his life had been at those specific moments, a picture of her always had brought a smile onto his face. He admired her body, yes. Her legs were not from this world, her always accentuated figure was not just right but, well, perfect.
How she kept that figure with her manner of living was beyond him. She ate too little and drank too much. Others would look like torn out, skinned out bodies with no strength to comprehend. But not her. Her strength was beyond belief, beyond reason and sometimes beyond his comprehension and imagination, and he had a pretty good imagination.
But what he had always admired most, and what he was sorry he could not see at the moment, were her eyes. Blue like ice on an Antarctic morning, blue as steel in a cloudless sunrise. Clear like the spring water in uninhabited mountains.
Her eyes, straight forward, never blinking, always trying to conceal her real feelings but at the same time telling novels to someone who would care enough to take a closer look.
Strong and independent, vulnerable and in need of affection. She was the walking, talking ordering, cursing contradiction in personification.
She was a force to be reckoned with. He was sure that, if she’d set her mind onto something, nothing could withstand her. The very forces of nature would tremble. He’d seen formidable forces out there and he would never underestimate the threats this world poses.
But when it came to her, you’re talking the ultimate threat. She's proven time and time again that she'll plough through any obstacle this world would throw in her way. She'll walk barefoot through the very heart of hell itself if she saw the need. In her own apparent arrogant way, she thinks the world revolves around her; and damned that world if it doesn’t! Of course, in his opinion, that was exactly the way the world should work.
A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, that going with this thought, he was probably - or better yet, definitely - not part of this universe.
Aware that he was deceiving himself here, it suddenly felt safer to repress that thought and leave it to ponder about for some other time. Now she was safe in her house, safe in her sanctuary, and he had a trip to make.
Souls of the Departed – 2
‘She’s the One’
He pulled his coat tighter around his body. It was getting colder by the minute. – ‘God, isn’t she cold?’
He stood a reasonable distance away from her in the shadow of an ancient oak tree. He watched her, watched over her not sure what to make of the still standing figure in the grass. Not moving for more than an hour, not wavering, not shifting weight from one leg to another. Standing still, her arms wrapped around herself, but not as if she was feeling cold. She seemed to brace herself, to hold herself in order not to falter, not to give in to whatever is pulling inside her to finally give in.
She was dressed in her usual business attire. High heels not made for standing in grass, a short skirt that ended well above her knees and the matching jacket to the grey skirt. Though already dark, he still could make out the lighter colour of her blouse. Blue-like anthracite, it was silk, he could see that, for it glimmered in the light that came slightly from the inside of her house.
Perfect, it fit her perfect. But he was sure that every apparel on the face on this earth would fit her perfect, she made it perfect.
She was perfection, in his eyes anyway, and what he had experienced in the past, in many a men’s eyes just as well. Sometimes, when his life was miserable and cruel, no matter if way back then in the Centre, or now, on a tough pretend, all he had to do was close his eyes and he saw her. So much beauty. No matter how difficult his life had been at those specific moments, a picture of her always had brought a smile onto his face. He admired her body, yes. Her legs were not from this world, her always accentuated figure was not just right but, well, perfect.
How she kept that figure with her manner of living was beyond him. She ate too little and drank too much. Others would look like torn out, skinned out bodies with no strength to comprehend. But not her. Her strength was beyond belief, beyond reason and sometimes beyond his comprehension and imagination, and he had a pretty good imagination.
But what he had always admired most, and what he was sorry he could not see at the moment, were her eyes. Blue like ice on an Antarctic morning, blue as steel in a cloudless sunrise. Clear like the spring water in uninhabited mountains.
Her eyes, straight forward, never blinking, always trying to conceal her real feelings but at the same time telling novels to someone who would care enough to take a closer look.
Strong and independent, vulnerable and in need of affection. She was the walking, talking ordering, cursing contradiction in personification.
She was a force to be reckoned with. He was sure that, if she’d set her mind onto something, nothing could withstand her. The very forces of nature would tremble. He’d seen formidable forces out there and he would never underestimate the threats this world poses.
But when it came to her, you’re talking the ultimate threat. She's proven time and time again that she'll plough through any obstacle this world would throw in her way. She'll walk barefoot through the very heart of hell itself if she saw the need. In her own apparent arrogant way, she thinks the world revolves around her; and damned that world if it doesn’t! Of course, in his opinion, that was exactly the way the world should work.
A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, that going with this thought, he was probably - or better yet, definitely - not part of this universe.
Aware that he was deceiving himself here, it suddenly felt safer to repress that thought and leave it to ponder about for some other time. Now she was safe in her house, safe in her sanctuary, and he had a trip to make.
