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There was a dance that night, and I shall never forget it. Everyone was having a good time, laughing and joking, but not you. You sat at the middle table and mingled with the crowd to watch with such observant eyes that subtly penetrated the core of everyone gathered – even if they didn’t know.

Everyone else danced to show off, have a good time, or simply to goof around, but not you. You always have a knack for watching everyone in silence, making sure they enjoy themselves in the web you built for them.

But what of you, my little spider?

No one notices you leave, and I see that ghost of smile, just as you bow your head slightly . . . and I know . . . I feel . . . that you prefer it this way. You spread mayhem as loudly as a wolf’s howl, but when it comes to the simplicity of joy you never take credit and you are forever silent.

But it isn’t shame that keeps you quiet. And that is what I marvel at as my legs pull me up and spellbound by your smile, I quickly follow you outside into the night, the sounds of the gathering dying behind me.

I had a thought, with every intention to write it down here, in this little book of sorts which weathered pages should be made of gold when they speak of you. But it escapes me as soon as I see you standing there amidst the green that so compliment your eyes and the mantle of red on your hair. You are admiring the plants nearby, while they seem to be admiring you. I tried to fully sketch your profile, to keep it to memory just in case I lose my mind, but as soon as I start fleshing out the details, you move.

* * * * *

I turn the page to start anew, my legs moving of their own accord while my eyes search for the perfect angle to reproduce in this sketch – a difficult task, indeed. You are in front of me but your back is to me. The gown you wear is backless. The heat patterns of my eyesight allow me to see the finer details of your muscles and curves. My hands are working furiously to jot all this down when lights distract my gaze. They fade in and out and I smirk because I realize they are fireflies! The cosmos itself seems to move and shift around us, searching for the better angle to make this memorable; to sketch it in its wide journal.

When my focus return to this page I notice I smeared the lines on the contours of your shoulders. I try to fix the mistake. But the sound of your soft voice carries on the warm wind and tickles both my ears, and completely stops my breathing.

“Sammy . . . .?”

I can tell by the way you say it I have startled you, but it is no less melodious in that pitch. My cheeks pale because there is that curious lilt to your tone. First I am cold, then hot in the span of just a second, all because of how you say my name. You are maddening Xull’rae!

I want to smirk. I want to say some witty one liner. Be the alpha wolf you always say I am . . . but my throat refuses to cooperate, my lips remain slightly agape. I try to clear my throat and all I do is choke. Wolf? More like a deer, caught awestruck from the light of your gaze.

But they call to me . . . your eyes . . . they always have! The bond we share, that connection, it ignites at your approach. The heat signatures fade away and the world takes on a different view. The patterns give way to color and clarity. You lift the veil from my eyes and I see it as you do.

I look up. The night sky is velvet blue. It is clear and blanketed with stars that glitter like diamonds. I wish I could reach out and give them to you, but as my vision settles straight ahead and I realize you don’t need them. You shine without them. Or is it that you’re one of them?

The way you are looking at me . . .that look I cannot describe it! But I will endeavor to paint it! I must for it is mine to keep and remember!

Those lips of yours that I so love to kiss, though delicate in their shape, are not smiling at me. My first thought is that you must be upset with me and I begin to formulate ways to make you smile . . .or should I do as you do and taste them? They are painted red like the apples you made me eat for every compliment I gave you. Do you remember that?

The paint on your cheeks, highlight your bone structure and compliment your soft skin. They hide your freckles. I don’t mind it because it gives you a radiant glow, or is that what you do to me whenever I look at you . . .?

You would simply tell me, “It’s the fireflies ”, and I would simply smile and shake my head.

You always have words for me, especially when mine fail to ever come out.

I have so much to say to you. Not even the bond can straighten them out in my head sometimes, but you are like the rose they name you for. You have your thorns. You are beautiful, but there is a softness to you, just like those petals. You allow me my quiet. You accept the work of my hands that my mouth could never do.

How? How did I come to deserve you?

How many times did I and still do question you about it?

Your answer always changes . . . unveiling the mystery bit by bit. But I do not know if it’s a puzzle I want to solve. If I do, would you disappear?

There is an urge in me to touch your hair, what attracted me to you in the first place. Tonight it looks so smoothly pulled back. It frames part of your face, curling so softly at the tips. The way it drapes over your shoulder. The summer heat gives it that frizz you so hate, but I so love . . . . So different, so wild, so untamed. So you. . . .

I love you Xull’rae! The thundering of my heart tells me so. It threatens to beat right out of my chest and I would not care. You are my peace. You are my happiness. You make me free. I do not understand it. My logic, my calculations and whatever I’ve gathered are simply not enough to give me a mathematical answer about what I feel. But I know it to be true.

You are there. I know you are. I feel it. But my eyes, my cursed eyes! How often they betray me! I need to touch you, to know you are tangible . . . I want to paint you in all your dazzling beauty! But I cannot seem to get my fingers to loosen their grip on this journal to do so.

You do it for me instead . . .

Your eyes ensnare me. I feel my pulse quicken. I see that lovely mouth of yours part in that inquisitive way of yours and I feel the blood rush to my head and throughout my body. Your fingers reach out . . and as soon as they touch my lips I hear the journal clatter to the ground, but I don’t care because you calmed my breathing.

Your hand enslaved my body to bend to yours. Not a single word came from you. How do you do it?

The warmth and softness of your lips pressed against mine was all the reality and answer I needed . . .

You awakened my deadened soul that hot summer night. I had a missing piece, you filled that void. We are one you and I. Finally I understand what it means to be whole. You are my other half. Without you I recede back into the shadows.

I know there is still the road to travel. It is not done yet. There is still more to learn, to know, to do, but I have finally found my compass. You Xull’rae: my light in the darkness.

========================

Picture was a sweet and thoughtful gift from *SYoshiko So in response I had to stop my work and give her a story as a gift for her gift!

But to get really creative I decided to gift my buddy *ChokeSlamer as well. So this story is not really a "story" but rather an idea we've been discussing about Grey keeping a journal and DRAWING things he sees and writing things down he is too shy or confused to say aloud.

So this blurb and picture was drawn by him in memory of that night. This is the point of view of his personal thoughts.

First person is not my usual style, so my apologies for verb tense mistakes.

Samuel "Grey" Kelfem belongs to
Picture is drawn by the fabulous
Xull'rae and story is written by me

Yes I had permission AND approval to write Grey this way. Yes I'm a hopeless sappy romantic.

Please read to see and understand how I used his thoughts to describe the details of this portrait. I was staring at the submitted picture while writing.
I was listening to this [link]

Heavily inspired by these to write about Grey:

Ode to the wolf and the spiderOde to the wolf and the spider

"Immortals can live forever, but gods do die—and for a few, a remnant of belief survives." Dead Gods: A D&D Fourth Edition Article by Pierre van Rooden

-----------------------

I still remember the day I died. It was a beautiful day, truly, none of that "rainy" truism that one tends to read about in texts of valiant heroes that gave their lives for the "greater good". I didn't die for this so called greater good. In fact, it was rather selfish, but it is not something I regret upon looking at what happened. I was meant for this. My soul was but a conduit that needed to be bashed, and shaped under a harsh

Description
There was a dance that night, and I shall never forget it. Everyone was having a good time, laughing and joking, but not you. You sat at the middle table and mingled with the crowd to watch with such observant eyes that subtly penetrated the core of everyone gathered – even if they didn’t know.

Everyone else danced to show off, have a good time, or simply to goof around, but not you. You always have a knack for watching everyone in silence, making sure they enjoy themselves in the web you built for them.

But what of you, my little spider?

No one notices you leave, and I see that ghost of smile, just as you bow your head slightly . . . and I know . . . I feel . . . that you prefer it this way. You spread mayhem as loudly as a wolf’s howl, but when it comes to the simplicity of joy you never take credit and you are forever silent.

But it isn’t shame that keeps you quiet. And that is what I marvel at as my legs pull me up and spellbound by your smile, I quickly follow you outside into the night, the sounds of the gathering dying behind me.

I had a thought, with every intention to write it down here, in this little book of sorts which weathered pages should be made of gold when they speak of you. But it escapes me as soon as I see you standing there amidst the green that so compliment your eyes and the mantle of red on your hair. You are admiring the plants nearby, while they seem to be admiring you. I tried to fully sketch your profile, to keep it to memory just in case I lose my mind, but as soon as I start fleshing out the details, you move.

* * * * *

I turn the page to start anew, my legs moving of their own accord while my eyes search for the perfect angle to reproduce in this sketch – a difficult task, indeed. You are in front of me but your back is to me. The gown you wear is backless. The heat patterns of my eyesight allow me to see the finer details of your muscles and curves. My hands are working furiously to jot all this down when lights distract my gaze. They fade in and out and I smirk because I realize they are fireflies! The cosmos itself seems to move and shift around us, searching for the better angle to make this memorable; to sketch it in its wide journal.

When my focus return to this page I notice I smeared the lines on the contours of your shoulders. I try to fix the mistake. But the sound of your soft voice carries on the warm wind and tickles both my ears, and completely stops my breathing.

“Sammy . . . .?”

I can tell by the way you say it I have startled you, but it is no less melodious in that pitch. My cheeks pale because there is that curious lilt to your tone. First I am cold, then hot in the span of just a second, all because of how you say my name. You are maddening Xull’rae!

I want to smirk. I want to say some witty one liner. Be the alpha wolf you always say I am . . . but my throat refuses to cooperate, my lips remain slightly agape. I try to clear my throat and all I do is choke. Wolf? More like a deer, caught awestruck from the light of your gaze.

But they call to me . . . your eyes . . . they always have! The bond we share, that connection, it ignites at your approach. The heat signatures fade away and the world takes on a different view. The patterns give way to color and clarity. You lift the veil from my eyes and I see it as you do.

I look up. The night sky is velvet blue. It is clear and blanketed with stars that glitter like diamonds. I wish I could reach out and give them to you, but as my vision settles straight ahead and I realize you don’t need them. You shine without them. Or is it that you’re one of them?

The way you are looking at me . . .that look I cannot describe it! But I will endeavor to paint it! I must for it is mine to keep and remember!

Those lips of yours that I so love to kiss, though delicate in their shape, are not smiling at me. My first thought is that you must be upset with me and I begin to formulate ways to make you smile . . .or should I do as you do and taste them? They are painted red like the apples you made me eat for every compliment I gave you. Do you remember that?

The paint on your cheeks, highlight your bone structure and compliment your soft skin. They hide your freckles. I don’t mind it because it gives you a radiant glow, or is that what you do to me whenever I look at you . . .?

You would simply tell me, “It’s the fireflies ”, and I would simply smile and shake my head.

You always have words for me, especially when mine fail to ever come out.

I have so much to say to you. Not even the bond can straighten them out in my head sometimes, but you are like the rose they name you for. You have your thorns. You are beautiful, but there is a softness to you, just like those petals. You allow me my quiet. You accept the work of my hands that my mouth could never do.

How? How did I come to deserve you?

How many times did I and still do question you about it?

Your answer always changes . . . unveiling the mystery bit by bit. But I do not know if it’s a puzzle I want to solve. If I do, would you disappear?

There is an urge in me to touch your hair, what attracted me to you in the first place. Tonight it looks so smoothly pulled back. It frames part of your face, curling so softly at the tips. The way it drapes over your shoulder. The summer heat gives it that frizz you so hate, but I so love . . . . So different, so wild, so untamed. So you. . . .

I love you Xull’rae! The thundering of my heart tells me so. It threatens to beat right out of my chest and I would not care. You are my peace. You are my happiness. You make me free. I do not understand it. My logic, my calculations and whatever I’ve gathered are simply not enough to give me a mathematical answer about what I feel. But I know it to be true.

You are there. I know you are. I feel it. But my eyes, my cursed eyes! How often they betray me! I need to touch you, to know you are tangible . . . I want to paint you in all your dazzling beauty! But I cannot seem to get my fingers to loosen their grip on this journal to do so.

You do it for me instead . . .

Your eyes ensnare me. I feel my pulse quicken. I see that lovely mouth of yours part in that inquisitive way of yours and I feel the blood rush to my head and throughout my body. Your fingers reach out . . and as soon as they touch my lips I hear the journal clatter to the ground, but I don’t care because you calmed my breathing.

Your hand enslaved my body to bend to yours. Not a single word came from you. How do you do it?

The warmth and softness of your lips pressed against mine was all the reality and answer I needed . . .

You awakened my deadened soul that hot summer night. I had a missing piece, you filled that void. We are one you and I. Finally I understand what it means to be whole. You are my other half. Without you I recede back into the shadows.

I know there is still the road to travel. It is not done yet. There is still more to learn, to know, to do, but I have finally found my compass. You Xull’rae: my light in the darkness.

========================

Picture was a sweet and thoughtful gift from *SYoshiko So in response I had to stop my work and give her a story as a gift for her gift!

But to get really creative I decided to gift my buddy *ChokeSlamer as well. So this story is not really a "story" but rather an idea we've been discussing about Grey keeping a journal and DRAWING things he sees and writing things down he is too shy or confused to say aloud.

So this blurb and picture was drawn by him in memory of that night. This is the point of view of his personal thoughts.

First person is not my usual style, so my apologies for verb tense mistakes.

Samuel "Grey" Kelfem belongs to
Picture is drawn by the fabulous
Xull'rae and story is written by me

Yes I had permission AND approval to write Grey this way. Yes I'm a hopeless sappy romantic.

Please read to see and understand how I used his thoughts to describe the details of this portrait. I was staring at the submitted picture while writing.
I was listening to this [link]

Heavily inspired by these to write about Grey:

Ode to the wolf and the spiderOde to the wolf and the spider

"Immortals can live forever, but gods do die—and for a few, a remnant of belief survives." Dead Gods: A D&D Fourth Edition Article by Pierre van Rooden

-----------------------

I still remember the day I died. It was a beautiful day, truly, none of that "rainy" truism that one tends to read about in texts of valiant heroes that gave their lives for the "greater good". I didn't die for this so called greater good. In fact, it was rather selfish, but it is not something I regret upon looking at what happened. I was meant for this. My soul was but a conduit that needed to be bashed, and shaped under a harsh