Note: Juvenilia, written when I was a teenager. I'm now a bit embarrassed by it, but am leaving it up here because a number of people were kind enough to read it and say complimentary things. Feel free to enjoy it if you will, but don't judge me on it. ;-) - May 2020.



A sallow, unsmiling face, roughened palm heavy on his shoulder. A low, cigarette-hardened whisper. "That's my boy."

Green eyes laughing, an impish face, swift brush of virgin lips, the scent of eglantine.

Slender, long-fingered hands, pale as ice. A wild, beautiful face, eyes glinting redly in the burning glow. His heart beating in his chest, and those white teeth bared in what might have been a smile.

His own curse, loud in his ears, and the slow, sad twinkling of tired eyes.

Pale fists clench about a black wand. He has forgotten what it is like to feel loved.