influence that exceeds her sweet flirtatious reputation and her spindled candy floss smiles. In the end, she is her mother's daughter; she likes the undying attention that pretty boys with charming smiles offer. The boys love the way her satiny raven hair cascades down to her petite waist in wavy curls but she only let's her hair down because she knows he likes it too. They believe she's ninety-one percent stardust—the milky way gave birth to her and the stars breathed life into her lungs—the rest, earth and bones.

Her velvety eyelashes are sewn delicately over her eyes. Her eyes are mesmeric, dappled with champagne and speckled with primroses. She twirls the cherry flavoured lollipop between her glossy pink lips and struts around town with a lovesick boy—only eighteen but the universe stops to stare.

They utter words of envious praises, delusional whispers and audible longing as she enters the lively 90s retro diner with Ethan Walker. They stare in awe, a pretty girl with the golden boy; a predictable and happy pair. Their myth won't end in blood and angst, it's no wonder the universe sends him to her, for her to avoid her tragedy.

Even amidst this, all she can think of is him. Had he not left his pack of Marlboro cigarettes behind, she would have considered it all a dream when she woke up the next morning without him next to her. How cruel, how empty.

Lavinia thinks she understands her scandalous mother now, she keeps longing for his love and even with another's arms around her, her mind and her soul belongs to him.

Ethan smiles at her, it's genuine and real. He adores her, just anyone can testify—why can't she just be happy with him?—but her mind isn't hazy and his touch doesn't elate her. Damianas don't bloom in her ribcage and her blood doesn't rush in her veins.

"I like you," Ethan says, he believes.

She knows, she feels his gaze gives it all away.

Lavinia knows that Ethan Walker recieves declarations of love often. Sunshine oozes from his sunstone eyes and luminous warmth arises from the depths of his smile. He carries Cassiopeia and moon-gold in his cheeks and Lavinia sees the way Ethan Walker looks at her. Like Orpheus would Eurydice and it is because she knows that she lets him go, to see if he would be patient this time to wait for her.

The universe seems to have stopped for Ethan Walker. It's almost as if the distant mumbles of other people, the clatter of plates and forks, the fan running loudly and the old song that play slowly in the background are non-existent in that moment. It's almost as if the universe has heard his own declaration of love and so it pauses, just to hear her.

He glances at her from across the table and she is smiling. It's not the smile he is hoping for but rather, it is a smile that makes the gods gather and cry, the stars align and mourn and the sinners weep. Translucent tears spill from her heavenly eyes as she looks at him with a melancholic smile.

Why?

"There is someone else for me. Will you still wait for my heartbreak?" She whispers, her eyes glimmering when the soft sunset dances delicately on her face.

He stares, his heart aches when he sees the sadness in her gaze. He breathes in the moment, drunk-dazed on her tears and the rippling sensation of her words. "Yes. If that means someday you'll come to me."

They stay in the diner for a long time, passing the slow and lazy afternoon laughing and talking without a care in the world until the distant mumbles stop and the neon lights fill the streets.

When they leave, it is already dark and the breeze feels humid and warm against her skin.

Lavinia sighs; summer is almost here again.

-

Later that night, she finds Elias Montgomery in her room again, drunk on all the tears they have spilled for him and high on his self proclaimed lovers love.

He stares at her intensely without a care, and she basks in all the glory and fire of his unwavering gaze.

"I missed you," he whispers, still tracing sin on her flawless and unmarred skin.

"I know," she whispers back lightly against his neck, and the fading marks that he doesn't bother to hide signifies that he is never really hers alone. Why do you do this?

In her bed, when he traces kisses down her paper skin and her blooming ribcage, when all rationality and obligation is disgarded and all that is left is the sound of pain and pleasure echoing in the dark, when he has her begging and yearning for his immoral touch, she feels, as if he is devoted only to her.

The smell of cigarettes, his cologne and her passionate moans morphing into desire all over again, he whispers forbidden proverbs into her head while his tongue on hers is the only thing her aching heart wants.

The high from his narcotics disappears and again, she is the only thing that intoxicates him, the only one that makes him feel. She lays naked on top of him after all is done and forgotten, she trails her finger over the writings on his body and he strokes her hair gently in the silence. It is so quiet, she can almost hear her mind wail but instead she hears his steady heartbeat drum against his chest rhythmically and therapeutically.

"What's on your mind?"

You.

Me.

Us.

"What's on yours?"

"You," he replies. "Always you."

Lies.

"Is that why you left me?"

"No." he strokes her hair softly, his gentle caresses and the silhouette of hope still lingers in the air that smells like her sickly sweet scent of cherries, his intoxicting scent of cigarettes and their erotic and sensual acts of pleasure.

And when she looks at her darling, she realises that he has heaven in his eyes for a man deemed as the devil. He is art; he is glory; he is divine—he is the most divine form of gods among men.

"Can you stay with me this time?"

Silence.

He doesn't answer her, but when she is certain that he won't answer again, he pulls her closer into his chest and answers her in a light whisper. "Yes."