She and He, You and Me

Her eyes had the texture of petrol, making all aware that
she could explode into icy fury in an instant. None were brave enough to try
and douse her flame, so she was left to simmer away, scarring all who touched
her.
 
He wears the shadows as if they were his clothes, keeping to
the background of life itself. Occasionally he flits into sight and then
vanishes, like the dragonfly that grasps your attention before moving away too
fast for your eyes to follow.
 
The shadows had confused her, so she had brushed them aside
with a warrior’s touch and found him, afraid. In her curiosity she forgot how
she scarred, and as she examined him she found her story branded into his skin.
 
The spotlight of her gaze found him, lighting his soul with
eyes that had seen too much and not done enough. For the first time in his life
he found himself exposed, naked to the eyes that seared cold fury onto his
being.
 
She watched him trying to scream, and closed her eyes
against the silence that poured from his mouth. Gathering up his shadows, she
pulled them around her, dulling the petrol in her eyes, and ran from the pain
of his awakening.
 
The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt; it made him
remember feeling, remember light and flame and the brightness outside of his
shadows. She set him on fire, and he writhed in the agonising ecstasy of life.
 
 
 
He has eyes the texture of burnt petrol, and a story is
written into the patterns on his flesh, but he will not speak of it; he will
only smother you with the ashes in his eyes.
 
She wears the shadows oddly, pulled around her and held in
place with the embers of an icy fire that used to burn so fiercely, but now
needs the spark to set it alight again.