Taking the song bird

It was late midsummer eve, Kyrell along with a french brunette that was serving as his date for the evening had been enjoying the impromptu carnival that a group of gypsies had set up within the streets of Paris. He didn't remember his date's name, but she didn't care--a fact that was proven every time he said a different name when addressing her. It was his wallet she cared about, and as long as he had money to spend he could call her whatever he wanted--literally. It wasn't anything that she had said that led him to this conclusion. It wasn't even lack of what he said. After all, there were other reasons that she might not correct him when he uttered the wrong name. No, it was in the smug expression that appeared upon her face every time he toss his money around like it was some worthless piece of paper to be replaced by just as equally worthless piece of paper--as if she is trying to rub it into the faces of those less fortunate than them. There were others within the carnival who seemed just as careless with their money as he did, and if his ran out his date would have no problem ditching him to weasel her way upon one of their arms. It was okay. Let her think that he was some stupid rich fool happy to have some beautiful woman show interest in him. When the evening was over he was going to toss her aside.


The gypsies were just as interested in his wallet as his date, but for different reasons. They were poor wanderers, who were considered unwanted pests by majority of human society, that took money whenever it presented itself. There were those that took advantage of this fact, and used their people as a source of cheap labor. They weren't all poor victims of society, or rather they had learn how to take advantage of those that looked down upon them. They did it with carnivals like these along through other means. It was in carnivals like these that the population didn't view them as thieves. Oh, they knew that the gypsies were taking advantage of them, milking them for all the money they were willing to give and even some they didn't know they had been willing to give, but this fact was forgotten behind the entertainment that the gypsies offered them.


There weren't an end to the entertainment. Performers filled the streets. Each attracting crowds of people. It was the dancers that drew his attention. He moved towards them with his date in tow. She wasn't interested in them. She regarded them for a brief moment before glancing away. Jealousy radiating from her, because she knew that no matter how hard she tried that she could not entice as well as these dancers. It was here that he found her--his splash of color in a world of black and white. Her light coloring made her stand out from the others, who darker in coloring, but she moved just as well as they did--if not better. Her body had carved to dance. He watched her dance, forgetting everything around him--including his date.


The blonde's eyes caught his, and it seemed that her dance turned into a performance just for him. He knew that was how every man in the crowd felt, and the dancers were probably taught to do just that--make each male in the crowd feel as if they are dancing for them. However, she did not regard the other men in the crowd whose eyes she had caught in the exact same manner, and her attention kept returning to him. They held a conversation in these exchanges---a thousand words shared each time their eyes locked. She was a cage song bird longing for freedom. She had come up with countless different ways to escape from the world that she hated, but each time she put a plan into action it fell apart. It wasn't because the others of her tribes actively put a stop to it. None of them every knew of her plans. It was the children.


While she regarded the adults with contempt, she loved the children. This fact was clear in the way she glanced down with a soft smile at the group of small children that decided to dance around her. She even grabbed their hands, leading them into a dance that was nothing like the one she had been preforming. It was more fun, and he loved her more for it. Yes, that was right. He loved her. The thought didn't give him pause. He was never one to fall slowly in love. It happened fast. The feeling came suddenly and without warning. There might have been a time when this fact had surprised him, but that was long ago--now, when the realization hit him Kyrell didn't even bat an eye. He wanted her. No, that wasn't right. He didn't want her. He needed her. He needed her like a man needed water.

"Kyrell" The sound of his date's voice grated upon his nerves.


He wanted to snap her pretty little neck, but he managed to resist the urge--barely. His hand wrapped around her neck, but he stopped himself before he implied the pressure. Instead, he pulled her towards him, his lips pressing against her own before he spoke. "Yes?"


"I'm bored. Can we do something else?" She asked.


He was tempted to tell her no, but when he looked back towards the dancers he discovered the blonde was gone. He looked around for a few moments for her, but she was no where in sight. "Sure." He told her, and begun to lead her away. They didn't get very far when he felt a hand in his pocket. He grabbed the wrist with one hand, and with the other he planned on striking the the thief in the face with his fist, but he stop short upon seeing whom it was--the blonde. She regarded him with a look that asked 'Miss me?'


He might not have hit her, but the brunette french woman did. It was nothing more than a slap, but a hard one. It caused the blonde's head to turn and left a bright red mark upon her face. "Dirty little whore." His date yelled.


She would have said more, but Kyrell interrupted her. "Do not utter that thought aloud." She gave him a look of protest. "You heard me." Her hand moved to strike the blonde again, and he reached out grabbing her wrist. He squeezed it until she let out a cry of pain. "If you touch her again. I will kill you." He pushed her away after saying those words, turning his attention back towards the blonde. What happened to the brunette afterwards he didn't know nor did he care. The only he knew was she didn't try to strike his little gypsy dancer again. "What is your name?"


Most might have asked why she had tried to steal from him, but he already knew the answer. She knew she could never free herself from her prison. She needed someone that will take her away from this life. If she had actually just desired the money then there were other rich men walking about that wouldn't have batted an eye at a hand sliding into their pocket. She had known that he would have noticed, and how he would react--even if she refused to admit it to herself. She made no attempt to free herself from his grip. She knew what he was--truly was. She was drawn to his darkness. His eyes spoke of his desire for her. He wanted to possess her--claim every inch of her and she was enticed by that as much as he had been by her dancing, at least that what he read in her eyes. "Ansley" She finally said.


He leaned down towards her until his lips were just inches from hers. "Ansley, you are mine." He finished the kiss. It was nothing like the kiss he had given the brunette moments earlier. This one spoke of hunger and desire, and his lips stayed locked with hers even as they vanished.