Glory

Story By StormDancer

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The one was destruction and abandon and terror. He was the shadows, the darkness, and the night. He was everything that most people feared, someone who could be anywhere without regard for walls or security. He was mystery and fierce charm. He was confidence bordering on arrogance. He was blatant innuendos and cunning speeches. He was banter and cruel barbs. He was smirks and hints of cruelty. He was human motion, pain in a frozen shell. He was hard passion and silky desire. He was cold laughter and sadism. He let her be everything she would be – everything she would be if she abandoned herself to the dark side of her sarcasm and wit. He was quick and cold and cruel. He was glorious.

The other was rebuilding and control and comfort. He was light in the darkness, the sun, the moon, the stars, anything that killed the shadows. He was the people’s idol, everything they wanted to be. He was knowledge and occasional charisma. He was nights of self doubt to be coaxed out of. He was stumbling speeches and awkward might-have-been flirting. He was agreement and gentleness. He was affectionate grins and blatant compassion. He was skill, worked for hard and long and still not perfected. He was fierce healing, warmth hidden inside a cold costume. He was soft friendship and rough caring. He was warm, friendly chuckles and protection. He was her better side, who put her on a pedestal of all her better instincts. He was quick and warm and kind. He was life.

There seemed to be no question who to pick. Terror or comfort, pain or pleasure, ice or warmth. All her friends said it was an obvious choice. The men themselves said it was a clear decision. She knew it to be easy.

So she had to wonder, as she let the man she chose rip into her with words and body and she responded with the same fierce, cold, passion, why she picked glory over life.