Desolate at Dusk

The first was as pale as snow, with lips as red as blood.

He held the perfectly round, shiny apple to his sweet lips, biting down lightly. He chewed soundlessly, with a small smile spreading across his flawlessly, porcelain face. He held the apple to me, beckoning for me to try it. I refused.

The second was covered with cinders from tending the fire.

He wore rags upon rags, yet he still held the dream firm in his heart. He clutched the glass slipper to his chest, as though it were the most precious gift he ever possessed. Yet he bent down to my feet, expecting me to try on the slipper. I refused.

The third slept peacefully while awaiting true love's kiss.

He was still and serene, his chest falling slowly and steadily. A deep sleep he could not be pulled out of. He looked comfy on the bed, all by himself. His lips were pursed, begging for a kiss from me. I refused.

The fourth had hair as long as the tower he stayed in.

He smiled down at me from his tower, more than 100 feet in the sky. He let down his hair, braided into a single rope. It was as yellow as corn, and as soft as silk. He tugged as his hair, asking for me to clime up. I refused.

The fifth had flippers for feet and a beautiful voice.

He swam before me, green mermaid tail strong yet delicate. His chest was bare, except for the single purple seashell. He opened his mouth, his beautiful voice surrounding me like the sea. He reached for my throat, wishing me to join him in song. I refused.

The sixth was odd, with his nose stuck in a book.

His eyes traveled back and forth across the literature in his hand, glasses on the tip of his nose. He looked up at me, eyes catching, and my heart stopped. He was a beauty, sitting there with knowledge behind those eyes. He pointed to the book before me, wanting me to read it. I refused.

The seventh had a pet tiger and held a gold lamp.

He pet the tiger slowly, head turned to the side. In his hand sat the gold lamp, looking rather dirty. He set the lamp on the ground before me, raising a single eyebrow, wondering if I would rub the lamp clean. I refused.

The eighth turned into a frog.

With caramel skin, and an arrogant smile, he held himself regal and strong. Purple mist appeared around him, slowly claiming his form. He turned green and small, reaching for my hand, pleading to save him. I refused.

The ninth had tied feathers in his long braided hair.

He stared at me as though I something other than human. Curiosity and hesitance lined his face, yet he did not run. The wind carried over us gently. He raised his hand in greeting, thinking I would do the same. I refused.

The tenth was a warrior who did not belong.

Eyes in the shape of almonds, with dark, beautiful irises. Hair tied back in a knot. He was strong and armored, ready for battle. A dragon perched on his left shoulder, staring me down. He held his sword out to me, giving me the chance to take it. I refused.

The eleventh was the king of snow.

His castle, made completely of ice and snow, reflected our figures. He stood in the light of day, finally free. His hands twirled snowflakes in the air, seemingly trying to mesmerize me with his power. I refused.

The twelfth held a bow and had curly red hair.

Young and bold, strong and careless. He was ready for a day outside filled with fun and games. He picked an arrow from his back, then stretched his bow to let loose an arrow. He opened his mouth, yelling for me to follow him. I refused.

She awoke with a gasp, dreams still fresh in her mind.

I had no idea what the dreams meant, or who the 12 boys were. Yet they were always there, when I closed my eyes. All very handsome, yet all expecting something of me.

I sat in the dark, in the early hours of the morning, completely alone and confused.

Or so I thought.