Stop...
Life would ebb and flow in a slow blur around her. She paid it no mind, listening to her music, ever-changing as the world around her was. Sure, she made friends, lovers, enemies...but little of it seemed to matter until something made her0
Stop.
A familiar laugh in an unfamiliar place, flower petals dancing in the breeze, the smell of fresh bread accompanying the morning dew. Little things from the past that drew her back into the present, back into herself from wherever her mind wandered to. It was the same dance she had with forever, as unchanging as herself. She would say she couldn't remember the beginning of her gift that was a curse at times and a blessing at others. But it wasn't the music, the food, or the soft petals that made her...
Stop.
Two eyes, one the color of the evergreens in winter with specks of the light mischief of spring and the other the promise of a storm at sea. Eyes you drown in, could gaze upon forever and never have your fill of them. 'Of course’, she thought bitterly, 'that's exactly what I have.' She looked away with a sigh, about to walk away, when someone said,
"Stop".
A single word rooted her to the spot, freezing her hands in mid-motion of putting her headphones back on. She slowly lowered them, turning back to see the owner of such a simple command.
Eyes the color of the evergreens and oceans curiously looked at her, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
She shook her head slowly, almost sadly.
"I'm...not from around here," she replied.
"Oh," the owner of the eyes seemed to be a little sad, "I saw you looking at me and could've sworn I knew you".
"Maybe in a different lifetime," she said, giving a little smile as she turned to walk away.
---
She found a place to spend the night, paying for a few more nights beyond what she planned to stay. For once, she wanted to rest and to not be reminded of all she's lost over the years, of sweet voices and captivating eyes. That's why she would lose herself in the great sea of humanity, to be saved from drowning in it by the barest thread of sanity. The fact she made it all these centuries was not a testament to her longevity, but to her knowledge and cunning. Occasionally the past haunted her in the familiar laughter of her long-lost sister dancing in a shower of daisy petals, or the smell of fresh bread the same as her beloved mother would once bake. It kept her fluctuating within the sane side of insanity. After all, the toll eternity would take on an average psyche would be devastating.
She settled herself into the soft bed, pulling out an old leather journal. As she writes, a small photo fluttered to the floor. She is smiling in the photo, and next to her smiling is someone with eyes that, if in color, would be as shining as sapphires and emeralds...
![The Moon's Weapon : the cursed mate [ MOVING TO GALATEA]](https://cdn-gcs.inkitt.com/vertical_storycovers/ipad_123f31099804e79c6de11657975bcaae.jpg)
