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She is beautiful.
Cascading blonde hair that seems to be giving off its very own light. The way it falls down her back and the few tendrils that hang by the side of her face, it gives off the allusion that she is an innocent. She is anything but. The darkness that veils her eyes is the single thing that gives off the beast within her. That beast is who she really is, and, yet, she doesn’t believe that she is that person. She believes that she is the innocent person that everyone sees. Oh, she has not a clue how wrong she is.
The faded jeans with tears and holes, the pastel sweaters and patterned shirts, the worn blue Volleys, and the high ponytails are the illusion; the pretense; the lie. The light layers of eyeshadow and blush, the minute amount of mascara on her eyelashes, the pale nail polish layering her fingernails, the pale colour of lipstick she seems to avoid using too much of are the mask she wears to hide her true face. The makeup is too perfect. It has no flaws, no smudges, and certainly no darkness to it.
Hidden away in her closet are the clothes that she should be wearing. The clothes that would suit her - that are her. Dark leather-like pants that would hug her every curve, knee high leather boots that lace up at the front, an almost skin tight black top that would accentuate her assets and mould to her hourglass figure, and a black leather jacket. In place of her mask, dark eyeshadow and a darker shade of blush, layered mascara to make her glittering blue eyes stand out, sleek black nail polish, and a brilliant shade of red to replace the pale lipstick. It may also be flawless, but, it is who she is.
The way she holds and carries herself convey more than words ever could. Her posture radiates ferocity and control. She is a leader, and that’s exactly what she needs to be in a world like this. The people around her believe they are the masters of themselves. She is different. She knows that she is the master of her soul. She is the lie and the truth; the light and the dark; the heavenly and the hellish. She is constantly at war with herself, and contradicting herself.
He knows who she really is. He has always been there, on the fringes of her vision, in the shadows or just around the corner. The windswept black waves dangerously close to obscuring his vision when not swept back on top of his head, flawless skin that is inhumanly perfect, a splash of barely visible freckles dusting his upper cheeks and bridge of his nose, mysterious, piercing blue-green eyes that seem to be staring into your very soul, and, at first glance, hide the darkness in them with ease, the sculpted lips that are an unusual shade, and the smug smirk that graces his face when he sees her anger start to rise, the smirk that makes his stoic face turn dark and dangerous.
Dark jeans, with a dangerous studded belt, the studs sharpened to a point, the material hugging the muscled legs beneath it, a pair of black Doc Martens polished to perfection, a skin tight black shirt that shows off his fit figure and allows for easy movement, as well as moving with his muscled torso as he walks, and a black leather jacket with a signature symbol on its back. A two-headed snake with three words in bold: South Side Serpents. Occasionally, a grey, crown beanie will be accompanying the devilish look.
The swagger in his step as he walks, the danger that he radiates, the pure anger that seems to be a best friend of his. He is the darkness to the town, and he isn’t about to let that change. The control that he and his friends have has taken generations to obtain. The Serpents have always run the South Side, and now they have crossed to the North Side. He is looking for younger members to join, and he has his eye on the perfect girl. She has what it takes to be a Serpent, and she gets it from her mother. Her mother was a Serpent with his father, and then the mother moved to the North Side and married some stick in the mud. Snakes don’t shed their skin so easily though.
They couldn’t be more similar. They couldn’t be more perfect for each other. They are two sides of the same coin, branded with the same iron, made from the same cloth. Two people could not be more perfect for each other. Even though from different sides of the track, and having grown up in different circumstances, they have more in common than they do with someone whom has grown up on the same side of the track and with the same circumstances as themselves.
Opposites truly do attract.