The hot, amber liquid slipped from her swollen lips, soaking her fingertips as she swiped them sloppily across her face. She flung her head back, playfully kissing the sticky sand that showered from her hair with the touch of her long-boned fingers. The cool sand clung to the bottoms of her bare feet, licked at the ends of her trailing, shimmering skirt, peppered the skin of her arms and neck like faerie bites. Frey softly touched one of her slim, narrow shoulders with the back of his hand, trailing the coldness of his skin along the line of her collarbone and down the small of her back. Lilith shivered deliciously, a sigh of laughter falling from her mouth. He inclined his head toward her, his lips grazing the hollow of her throat, murmuring lost words against her skin. Lilith tugged on a lock of his moon-washed hair, whiter than her pale skin, and her breath rose in small clouds of white where the night swallowed them.

"I am no child, Frey," she hissed. "You waste your breath." Her sighs rattled like hollow bones in the air as she shoved him aside, her knees hitting the sand soundlessly and her hands flying to grasp the ledge of the chipped wooden table before her. She raised her bright eyes to catch sight of the childlike shadow of a nymph that kneeled silently in the sand, clutching the slim curve of ancient, white china that flashed against her dark as ink skin. The sunken black eyes swept Lilith's form as a wicked smile stretched the length of her wide, thin-lipped mouth, showing the tips of pearly white teeth against the flesh of her bottom lip.

"Your eyes sparkle," Lilith murmured, eyeing the thick layers of glitter that tapered from the nymph's eyelashes, bouncing small flares of colour in the moonlight. The skin that circled the wrists of the nymph was purpled and yellow as a bruise, and Lilith bit blood from her bottom lip. She fingered the delicate handle of her teacup with reverant fingertips, singeing the palm of her hand on the hot liquid that slipped over the sides as her hand shook.

"A taste of life so beautifully wasted," the nymph sang, tipping the cup backward into her mouth and swallowing the contents, the two before her watched her gilded throat contort as the hot liquid found it's way to her stomach. "So grounded in life, the swallow did not see the branch, but did she perched until the hunter shot." She grinned, fully aware of the instability she had put herself into, although it did not stop the laugh from bubbling out of her mouth. Lilith turned to the back of the shack, moving through the sentient corpses. This was not her game to play, she never could follow rules.

"All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream." Frey filled the two fractured teacups with liquids of his own concocting. With a smile only a maniac could simper, he placed his hands over both of the cups, spinning them so quickly they clattered against each other, becoming one, smashing apart. His face was a mask, as Lilith held her hands together, a simple lace dress becoming gloves as her fingers knitted together. She bore the pain of the astute joke as it was played out.

The nymph's dark skin was guised by the dark night's blanket of sorrow, as she held herself hollowly. The shadow of her hollow throat played a game with the galvanized audience, their cries and thrums becoming of Frey. His cape came to a point beneath his chin, as his eyelids folded downwards and the joy of his face was lit. Peeling back his fingers all of a sudden, he looked the wood nymph in her dark as pitch eyes. Her matted cascade of ringlets rippled across her bare back, the ends stained red by the sticky blood that ran in rivulets toward the sand, tangling into the two deep gashes that graced her back like a crown. The nymph's shoulder blades were as sharp as the knives of the two knights standing before her.

They held their blades between their blood red teeth, hands locked in her hair as a lover might do. They did not force passion but pain, but she wore it as only one with no more life in her frame could. "Make your choice, make the brave one, or play the coward. No one will know despite yourself. Not until you show us the pain that you have caused for your own forlorn jovial movements. Let you drink for us, on this night where the moon may shine no brighter."

She grinned a vile leer, picking the cup with the broken handle. It had been selected from the old house nearest the pier by Lilith, where the water was black and her hair was tangled with leaves. The nymph's boney hand was steady as she slipped the cup from the table, leaving a dark burn etched into the surface of the table as the liquid sloshed.

"Did they take your wings, pretty?" Frey hissed as he ran his long index finger across her broken jawline. "Did they hack them the fuck off?" He held on to her chin with brusing fingers as the drink slipped through of the corner of her cracked, black lips. He smiled at her, and Lilith felt the shame for the both of them, the white bubbles running down the underside of her chin hissed, and she broke. Her tears came to brim over her kohl rimmed eyes,snaking their way down across her sharp cheek bones. She let out a gasp as the nymph fell forward, a sizzling crack echoing in the night air, the sound of breaking bones. It was not the only thing that would no longer be in place.

Lilith nodded for the faery, a jerking tip of her head; she could not stand a question lying unanswered. It hurt her, just like the air in her mouth and throat, burned. A sound like a garroted sob floated from the torn lips of the nymph, her slender fingertips clawing faint grooves into the surface of the wooden table. Blood skidded from the table top, falling like tears to stain the sugar white sand beneath, curling like fingers toward the hem of Lilith's frock coat. Bile rose to burn in Lilith's throat, and her pale, shaking hands clasped the column of her neck. Her touch was cold as ice. The body of the nymp shuddered once, softly, then all was quiet. The echo of her heartbeats strangled in her clawed fingernails.

Lilith jerked away from the table, stumbling in the sand, her arms thrown wide as a skittish bird to free a path. A light hand snatched at the hair piled against the nape of her neck and the tops of her shoulders, Frey's hand, but she could not take it.

"A bird in the hand," he murmured as his fingers tangled her hair. A single drop of blood dusted the white of his shirt; Lilith's hands shook. The smell of death and poison had left her ravenous for a thing that was never to be hers. She did not own much, but was a possessive bitch. Her hair slid down her back as she pulled the collar of her dress away from her body, the lace peeling back slowly in the sauna-like heat.

The crowd watched the body shiver, the wind tossing it slowly until one of the knights bent down one knee, pressing his fingers to his temples in one of the dirtiest signs imaginable. Lilith slipped out of the back, between two loose boards, gliding forward towards the water, swaying like the sea. She held her arms out to the side, walking in a straight line before a hand caught the ribbons dangling down her back, caught in her hair. Her head went south and her body flew north, tumbling to the ground. Frey locked his arms around her neck, elbow pressing into the dent of her collarbone. Lilith's face did not contort, but it spoke of flames, the ones licking the sky near the pier, the body carried like a broken marionette, dragged through the sand, leaving prints of blood behind her.

"Release me, you speaker of poison. There was no need to make her take a gander. She had already taken her last breath! You despicable being, I could never fall out of love with you." He danced around her lightly, eyes glowing with power he held. It could glow in his hands, but they were carefully tucked away in his pockets. She watched the lighter tucked behind his ear glint as the moonlight struck it.

He walked away with a careful gate that she could not match, her fingers itching to touch the swell of his exposed hips that hovered in a slim strip beneath the cotton of his shirt. She cupped her pale hands toward the sky instead, delicately, wanting to catch a piece of the wind that clawed hollowly at her dress, tossing it up around her bare thighs. Tangled catches of her hair slipped to her lips, sticking to the sweat that glistened in the hollow of her throat, a result of Frey's presence that made her toes curl in helpless anger.

"Would I that the night belonged to me alone," she murmured, flinging her hands down and dispersing the light that she held there back into the darkness. But the thing Lilith knew above all else about the night was that it was a feral thing, not to be owned or had or stolen, not by hands so stained as hers. Her feet were silent as she spun toward the tall silhouette of a faded lifeguard stand hulking in the distance like some great cat, a lioness. The railing was old and jagged, worn away by the touch of the sun and the sea, and her fingertips danced softly across it as she hoisted herself onto the trembling stand. The shadows of two forms intertwined in the darkness turned her mouth sour, and she hissed at them with words that stung in the air and tore at her heart. The words were not for them, but the love-boldened pixies fled from her rage, their laughter shimmering in the darkness as they pranced, leaving behind a buttery soft leather jacket in their haste. Lilith laughed softly, snatching the jacket onto her small frame, where it dangled toward the bruised skin of her ankles, the collar turned upward to sheild the circle of her throat.

"Darn you rapscallion, I'll tickle your catastrophe!" she roared, her voice laced with trepidation. Fingering the love notes weighing down the pockets of her leather jacket, she drew in ragged breaths of salt. Pressing her thick tongue into a strawberry candy, she shivered, cackling as the sugar stained her lips red as blood. Her head bent back as she braced herself against the sagging wooden walls. It was an ugly look upon her face but she did not know things, nor did she want to. The worn wood of the lifeguard stand felt perfect and solid and warm beneath her bare feet as she danced. There could never be enough drugs in the land that could keep the two apart. The night was too dark, construction paper pasted onto the sky.

"Crazy bitch!" He bellowed as she kept flitting across his peripheral vision. His white hair was their nightlight as the waves threw themselves at the dirty sand; they needed to be held, as the two fey needed to scream. Her knees were shiny as blood straight from the wound, the hem of her dress showing them off. There was danger in his voice, but her blithe mood could not empathize with it. The hurt she caused herself was more than he could to her if he tried. It would never cause him to stop. Her fangs pressed against her mouth, and she gnawed on the inside of her pink cheeks. Her feet slid on the sand that caked the makeshift floor.

The boy's head was underneath her fingers, his gorgeous lips mashed against hers. They were so thin, so wet as they slid together in infatuation. She let herself linger against his strong chest, until he pushed her away, an embarrassed laugh pushing against her mouth. His elegant lips were bleeding, dripping onto his white shirt, stretched so wide she could see his fashioned chest. "You scoundrel," she puffed, running her tongue over the plastic of her pointed teeth. Lilith preferred the salty taste. Her feet dug hastily into the wet sand. Her escape was poorly planned. She ran on the curvaceous lines the edge of the waves painted on the sand.

"Where are you?" he cried to her amusement, as she held her hands up, high in the air. She was free here. They shouldn't be here, not together, not at all, as she giggled to herself as her feet dug into the sand. She was determined to leave the beach behind. "You're so fucked, the sand ends sometime." His voice was right behind her, and the taste of his blood was so familiar, she could smell it in the air. His breath was on the backs of her ears.

"Leave me alone!" They hated and loved each other too much to speak. He had gotten her drunk, almost pouring the red liquid down her throat, spilling most of all down her front. It was the only way for them to speak. She could smell the tears running down her face, from what she had done. His actions were her own. His breaths were hers, as they tangled together and he groped for a grip onto her hand. Her tongue devoured them, licking her lips and tip of her nose from the delicious remains.

The ground rose up to meet her face and she laughed horribly. A pair of hands pulled her up to see the dark sky, neck limp as she made out the sparkling stars. She was in horrible denial and once against his full-force beauty struck her between the eyes. His calm, bony hands smoothed back her damp blonde hair, skipping over her infected unicorn tattoo. He curled his long, heavily jointed fingers around the back of her neck. She relaxed in his hero grip, and let her headache rest in his hands, as her pale fingers wrapped themselves around the neck of his coat. Her chest tightened as his fingers danced over her face. She had all the urges to rip his fingers off his perfect hands.

"Heal your fucking self." His sweet voice dusted over her weak heart and she coughed slightly, not willing to move her eyes from the lonely sea.

"Go back to the fucking mothership." She rolled away, sand coating her clothes and her hair. Not bothering to move from the space where she lay, he lay down next to her. Their breathing was in sync, as was the pounding of their hearts.

"I will if you will."

Her breath caught in her throat, pushing down whatever declaration of whatever back down. Wriggling onto her side, she looked down upon his face.

"Sometimes lost, sometimes, but never found." She kissed him once again, letting the waves run over her feet, their two intertwined bodies. The cold water lapped at her hair like it was whispering secrets in her ear. She slapped her hair away from her face impatiently, holding on to her bundle of joy like it was the only thing grounding her. It was. Joy was much heavier than people thought it was. In fact, if it wasnt for the joy that her nails were digging into, she would be floating away in the ocean water that her loose hairs were drifting away on. Coughing she wiped away the left over pixie dust from her salty hair, and his blood from her mouth. She looked at the mess that was the two of them.

Being doe white did nothing for her sanity. With her goddess curls running down her goddess back, and the devils heels strapped to her feet, she could only hope. It was a wonder that she could last as long as she could, to the mercy of the others. Her ruby red lips reminded people of their mothers, but the strange way she dressed reminded them that she was only what they wanted her to give in to. People surrounded her like leeches anyway. Did they care if she showed up wearing socks with sandals? They embraced her because they had to. They could live with her and the power she wielded. So could he. Taking in the look of confusion covering his gorgeous face, she hurried to her feet.

"COME AND GET IT DEATH," she shouted, her hands cupped around her swollen lips for effect. The moon dust that had settled down to her shoulders was burning scars into her skin, but she liked the result it had on boys. Her skin throbbed as she rubbed the space on her forehead around the two thick gold bands holding her hair to the sides of her head. Here she was queen of the Netherlands, here all alone she could rule over the ocean and the sand below. "Death!" she roared once more, stomping her feet in frustration. Opening her arms wide, she took in the boy at her feet, the salty drops of liquid running down her cheeks, dotting his shirt. He held himself up on his forearms.

It was enough that she had been woken from her slumber by the creature himself, but now she was spinning in the water with nowhere to go. She knew it. Why did he show her his sad, sad eyes only to lie about his appearance? She would not tolerate such an evil being on her shores. "Death?" she cried, unbelieving that it would ignore her, her of all people.

Opening her mouth once more, she sucked in the salty air to find the chance to breath it back in to another's mouth. "No. No. No," he breathed. "You're not the kind." Her breathing was labored as she sniffed his porcelain neck. "Not the normal kind. Not any kind."

And he let her slip from his grasp.