A gentle breeze carried the scents of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and honey-glazed pastries, weaving through the laughter of people gathered beneath strings of glowing lanterns that swung like little suns above them. Their golden hues danced upon smiling faces and wool-wrapped shoulders, casting flickers of warmth into the cool night air.
He felt different in body texture, his wrinkles vanishing from his body, leaving him with smooth and youthful nature—a transition in time—but the memories in his mind remained the same. He could see families huddled near bonfires, the crackling flames serenading them with soft pops and hisses. Children ran with sparklers in their hands, painting the night with giggles and light. Tables overflowed with shared dishes—warm breads torn with bare hands, stews ladled into wooden bowls, and mugs of spiced cider clinked in toasts that echoed with love. The moon reigned quietly, bathing everything in a pearly luminescence. Shadows of swaying trees danced gently along the edges of the gathering, and from the surrounding woods came a nighttime symphony—the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves as nocturnal creatures stirred, and the occasional chirp of crickets keeping rhythm like nature's background choir.
Beautiful figures moved through the crowd with quiet confidence, the kind that didn't need permission to be noticed. The moonlight touched their skin, tracing the curves of their bodies without shame. Hips full and defined, swayed naturally with each step, accentuated by fitted skirts and dresses that clung in all the right places. Their thighs, thick and strong, moved with purpose, and when they stood still, the slight arch of their backs drew the eye to the soft roundness of their behinds—shapely, full, the kind that made people pause mid-sentence just to watch. There were a series of claps—the one that doesn't need a hand—as they ran through the crowd. Waists narrowed just enough to highlight their figures—neither exaggerated nor hidden, but natural and real. Their chests rose with steady breath, full and proud beneath the fabric, and even the subtlest movement—the tilt of a shoulder, the shift of their stance—seemed to carry an unspoken language. They didn't need to speak to be felt; their presence alone was enough.
Their hair fell in thick curls or sleek waves, carrying the faint scent of vanilla, rose oil, or something muskier, richer—fragrances that clung to them like second skin. And when they laughed, it wasn't just sound—it was warmth. It filled the space, pulled heads in its direction, and left a trail of comfort and temptation behind. People felt better, lighter, just being near them. They weren't dressing up for attention—they were the attention. Not through effort, but through an effortless kind of sensuality. A kind of woman you don't forget—not because of how she looked, but because of how she made the night feel different once she walked into it.
He could feel his body being brushed by a raised, soft, round, but hard skin that had a hardened dot at its center—bouncing like a ball on his chest—as he moved through the stiff crowd. His heart felt at peace when the touch came, making his head turn in search of the holder. He could feel heaven on earth as he kept turning, longing to grasp the holder—a sensation that can kill. His eyes clashed with a shiny eye that can defy the gods, even one that the god of love can't resist. It was as if the person knew she was being longed for.
He could see something forming, slow and deliberate, pulling him into stillness. Noticing the corners of her mouth lifted—like a tide pulling back before a wave—adorned with much anticipation. It carried a quiet confidence, a sensual whisper that doesn't need sound. Oliver didn't just see it—he felt it. The smile that has the reflection of the sea in it—deep, endless, and shimmering with secrets. Looking at it was like staring into clear waters at midnight, so lucid you could see your own desire mirrored back at you. It's not just your face but your most vulnerable hidden self. Yes, that's what he felt.
The smile didn't judge; it welcomed Oliver. It drew him in with warmth and wrapped around his mind like silk soaked in honey, making him forget how to breathe properly. He got the urge to follow the steps of the lady he got attached to—wait, is it just a coincidence?—her eyes had the very best brownish color ever seen, hair as brown as the earth, and shiny as the moonlight.
Raising his hand in a form of signal, he moved swiftly in a zigzag manner as he paved his way. Due to the steps at which she was moving and the crowd's movement, his hand signal was of no use. He decided to walk in the opposite direction, hoping to meet her at the other end of the circle. Moving twelve steps, almost passing the eleventh person, a hard, rough-surfaced hand clung to his shoulder.
His face crumpled slightly like an angry person as the hand caused him to lose sight of her. The touch felt distant but close, fingers short but big nails sharpened—with sand at their tips.
"Hey, man! Where are you walking to? Didn't you see me?"
The voice was sharp and clear and, with great power, filled the air.
'Who is this person, and why does it feel as if we've met before..'
His ears could recognize the nature of the voice, but some traces were missing, making him scratch his head. Looking at the broad, soldier-like chest with a series of marks—claw-like marks—drawn on its surface, his mind started racing with time.
"Hey, Oliver...!" Have you taken your drug again? Hahaha..."
Now his eyes raised, taking a clear look at the face of the voice. After facing the person eye to eye, he froze. Not just from fear but from something within. The voice kept lingering in his mind, bringing up a few similar records of it, but the actual name or relationship of the person remained hidden.
"Hey! Stop this your foolish look!"
"Why? Have you forgotten me as well?"
"It's me, Leo!"