"Yes, Scarlett," he said, opening his eyes—and immediately regretting it.
She stood there in the moonlight like something torn from a twisted fairy tale and rewritten by desire itself. The clearing around her seemed to hush in reverence, the shadows leaning back just to watch her move.
She wore a thin, long silk dress, pale and liquid-like, clinging to her like it was in love with her shape.
The fabric whispered around her ankles as she moved barefoot across the mossy earth, each step soft, deliberate, primal. The cool breath of the forest seemed to sigh around her, leaves shivering in reverence, branches bending slightly to let her pass.
Her hair was damp with dew and moonlight, wild and free, falling in cascading waves that begged to be touched. Her eyes—those impossible, bleeding garnet eyes—held storms and temptations and buried truths he wasn't sure he had the strength to unearth.
