Based on Picture Two:

by SinfullyxSweet

There was something about the look in her eyes. Something mysterious, like an unknown misunderstanding between her and the rest of the world. Like somehow nobody else could understand or comprehend exactly how she felt. She had been told so many times by so many people how she wasn't understood. She had wondered so many times how she couldn't be understood.. how each strand of the curly dark brown hair could make her become someone different. She didn't understand how she was different. She couldn't see her complexities, or what other people saw in her. We all could. Her eyes were light, but they burned like cigarettes that had yet to be put out; her body tame but like a wild animal. The way she danced to our music, to the beats of our music, left her as the best known question, the name on the tips of tongues for miles, from village to village. Everyone knew her; the women were jealous of her good looks, the men, lustful and passionate for her; but each to their own. Even the single men shook her off as too good or too complex; but when she danced, they all got lost in the rhythm of her movements. The rhythm of her eyes, of her soul.. of her heart.

Night after night she'd perform these dances, dressed in revealing or modest outfits, whichever suited her tastes night by night; but her eyes always stayed the same, always twisting in to flames like nothing anybody had ever seen or thought about before. The musicians of the village would come together that night, gathering a collection of music that was original, and changed from village to village. Night after night, people would gather, sitting in a large circle around the crackling heat of the fire and watch her dance. The night we met she was wearing a light blue triangular-shaped top over her chest, and pants with the legs ripped off at the bends of the legs. She was beautiful. Dangerously beautiful, and as I watched her, a lump formed in my throat, preventing even the slightest noise until I eventually pulled my eyes away from her. The man sitting next to me, a gentle elder, leader of a village atleast 20 miles away, was studying my reactions to her intensely. When we connected eyes, he grinned lightly at me.

"You think she's beautiful, don't you boy?" I was blushing furiously, but the night hid this well.

"Who wouldn't think she's beautiful? She's nearly Satanic." He laughed lightly at my remark, and then looked back at her. "What's her name, anyway?"

"Anne-Marie."

"Where did she come from?"

"We're not quite sure. Maybe from the village near Kataya, judging from the way she dances, but it's still not for certain." She had danced her way around the fire now, and was calmly persuading an older gentleman to dance with her. He had given a little bit of a fight, but in the end, she had won.

"Is she married?"

"You are crazy, child. Dressed like that? No."

I continued to watch her. She moved so gracefully. There was still something about her, however. Something I couldn't define. She looked so happy while she danced, but there was some hidden sadness in the way she smiled. She looked as if she had lost something that she had valued more than the world.

The men were gathering around her now, each handing her a rose. It was only tradition. I waited for the crowd to clear off before I started towards her.

"Do you like dancing?" She hadn't been looking at me previously, but now she turned, sharply, as if I had asked her if she'd marry me.

"I do it for a living."

"That's not what I asked."

"What did you ask?"

"Do you like dancing?"

"Yes."

"You're lieing," I said quietly, and shook my head. "Why are you doing what you don't like?"

"I'm not lieing."

"Okay." There was a long pause. She moved several times, never bothered by the fact that I was still standing near her.

"No, I don't like dancing. I did when my life meant something," she whispered, and moved away from her tent quietly, pulling her hair back and pulling her blanket around her shoulders.

"Why doesn't it mean anything now?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"You're beautiful, you know. You'd be even more beautiful if you smiled."

"Why do you care? I'm just another piece of candy for your lustful eye."

"No. You're not. You're more."

"You don't know me. And while you may think you do, you don't. And you never will because I will be gone within 2 days and you've got your own life."

"How do you know?"

"Excuse me?"

"How do you know? How do you know I won't follow you?"

"I don't want a follower. I want to get away from here."

"Why?"

"Because at one point, when I loved, and was loved back, I felt as if I had something. When I understood who I was, and understood why I was here, and why I was loved, I danced with joy. Today, I can't dance, knowing the one I still love doesn't love me."

"How do you know?"

"He told me so. It's so obvious by the way he talks to me. He doesn't care."

"Are you positive?" I reached down, and picked up her cheek, rubbing the tear ever-so-gently away from her cheek. She looked at me gently with those chocolate brown eyes and I couldn't resist. I fell into her lips, greedy, hungry. I hadn't tasted them for months.