Disclaimer: I don't own Daughters Of The Moon.

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It's Hollywood, scum of Los Angeles, and the most common of sights greeted the most ordinary of smells. As Serena mused, traveling through the desert of night, wind capturing her curls, the scent of a breezy cold tugged at her magnolia-colored skin. Frankly, she wasn't prone to strolling through shady parks, no soul in sight, in Hollywood, but it was enlightening after a blood-boiling argument with her older brother. And it gave her a chance to exhibit her mustard yellow scarf, sequined in silver.

"I see you've decided that you want to die."

She paused and bit her bottom lip, eyelashes sweeping against her cheeks as she battled the blush creeping across her face. Stanton, of course, would choose this precise moment to obsessively shadow her. Not like she minded, something she dared to admit just a few days ago when they shared their mutual attraction with one another in the alleyway of Planet Bang. That was the last she'd seen of him as before she'd strode back into Planet Bang, wondering, craving, dreaming, and ignoring her subconscious.

"Serena." He spun her around, toying with the scarf woven around her neck. They stood, quietly, on a stretch of cement, a sidewalk that twisted through the grassy, open park. Trees towered above, miles high, touching the heavens of the navy blue and black sky. Only bits of stars shimmered; it was LA, and the beauties of space weren't always viewable.

"Serena," he repeated, warming her hands; they were ice cold. She shivered delightfully, and smiled up at him, liquid blue orbs soft and penetrable. The desire for companionship, for something deeper than a timeless existence, burned in those blue moons, and an open heart - hers, she knew - was the key to unlocking this.

Or I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Why are you out so late?" The corners of his eyes crinkled, adorably so, and she cocked her head, green eyes aglow. How easily he could read her mind, opened like a book - a sacred book, one no one's ventured upon till now. Her skin crawled pleasurably at the intimacy, the secrecy between them in the dead of night. In a park. At 10 PM.

She replied honestly, "I'm just thinking. I got into an argument with my brother, Collin." She prolonged the moment as he caressed her shoulders, tracing her collarbone with his thumb, the padding smooth and delicate. "He's gotten more moody lately. I think he's in love."

"Being in love makes you more moody?" His inquiry was teasing, although masking curiosity as he began unraveling the scarf; rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He was leonine, she admired, and carved into a handsome, attractive young man. Blondes weren't normally her "type," but the wisps of his golden mane were like a lion's, and his smirk was a lion's, too; always preying, always sharp. Wit and charm. How, with years of suffering, could he exude such compassion as he did at the very second? It baffled her to the core.

"Well, unrequited love." Serena, stroking her reddened curls, smiled bashfully at the ground. His gaze was scorching. You're fraternizing with the enemy, her fears echoed, and her smile curved down, a frown. Their conversation was amicable, tender, even mysterious, a double agenda behind it. She didn't know if it was all a ploy, and the very idea frightened her enough to step backward.

He moved closer, although still smiling crookedly, and she blinked up at him. His movements were magnetic; he didn't even realize what he'd just done. Breathing a sigh, she stared behind her, at the hill of grass and little white flowers.

"You're not like other young women, are you?" He's eyes sparkled in a look she'd seen so long ago, in the virgin shyness of elementary school. James Philips had slipped her note, saying 'I Love You' in messy, typical child-like letters. Those hazel irises glittered just the same as Stanton's now, although not as passionate.

Love-sick.

Her insides crawled, her spine erect and frozen. A stream of warmth flooded her veins, and blood pooled into her cheeks. Scarlet - they were scarlet-colored now, roses and cherry blossoms and apples. Any color of passion, of affection.

"You're different," he continued smoothly, and she clicked her tongue ring against her teeth. This speech was heading into perilous waters. "Everything about you is so open, like nothing's I've ever seen. Cassandra, who constantly throws herself at me, isn't even this receptive. Your voice - the one that's your mind. It's everything about you - compassion and nurture and serenity." He cupped her chin as she attempted to look away, saying, "I know I'm being dramatically romantic and pathetic, like… like I'm love-sick."

Her cheeks heated. He heard her thoughts.

"You're beautiful… and perfect. I know, that when I saw you - I saw you… I can't explain it." Her face was ashen. Everything inside of her imploded, and she felt like screaming to Selene, Why am I so weak right now? "I'm a Follower, a slave to the Atrox. I don't have a soul, I've committed atrocity and I've destroyed lives. Stolen souls. And I'm sure as hell that I don't deserve you. I don't even deserve to be in your presence.

"But I'm damn certain that's the reason why I'm here now. Here with you. Because I want to deserve you. I want to earn your affection and love and attentiveness. I want to be human… with you. I want you to show me how." She buckled, and he steadied her, his arms encircling her waist. His eyes were fierce, his eyebrow knotted together, and his lips pursed.

"I'm being sappy. I'm being every Prince Charming in every movie you've seen. In every book you've ever read. But… there's no music in the background. You're not crying. There's no stars. And we're in a park in Hollywood, and I just so happen to be the ultimate force of evil, and you, the purest of all good on this forsaken earth. And I'm not sweeping you into a kiss that the life-altering..."

Crickets. As cliché as it sounded, she could sense the nightly lullaby, the rhythm of music. The crickets were singing. The skies, blank and somber and dark, loomed above her, threatening to swallow her. Serena, who was gazing blankly at the black shirt Stanton wore. No lint; it didn't fit to his muscled stomach, but was wrinkled, a little, as if he'd been tugging at it too much. A breeze swept the leaves under her feet.

She was aflame. Fire flooded inside of her through the pores of her skin. Her legs were numb, and all she wanted to do was run in the opposite direction; down the hill and home, to the security of her bedroom and books and… No.

Books. Mr. Darcy and his charm. Mr. Edward Rochester, not exactly handsome, but pure in the heart. Trying to make Jane jealous, but then proclaiming his love the next minute. It's all so romantic, but not what she wanted. She wasn't a "popcorn and movies and cuddling" girl. She was passion. French kisses, driving through Los Angeles and examining the wonders of the city, and sharing passages from books. She wasn't typical.

She was poetic.

And he was offering her something most girls desired.

Girls fell for broken men not to suffer with them, but to fix them.

To tend to the bird with the broken wing - help him fly again, find something in life. She was one to repair, to heal the wounded.

To share secret kisses and share poetry and teach - teach the beauties of life.

She would share her cello music, let him listen and observe the intimate stroke of her bow, the beautiful echo of music. Her mind was free to breeze through, to be revealed - with her hush-hush longings, her enigmatic hobbies and occasional neurosis. How she worried over whether or not unicorns may have existed. No one knew that. But she was about to let someone know now. Someone… special? Would she dare?

"Serena…?" Stanton, he was nervous, his deeply-toned voice quavering.

"But the kiss would be life-altering," she whispered, eyebrow flattened as she blinked toward the ground. Flexing her fingers. Trying not to scream at him for being so naïve in this very life-altering passage of time.

"Serena?"

"If we kiss right now… I'm sealing my fate. I'm making a promise of life or death. We both are, Stanton. Don't you see?" she exclaimed, blinking at him. Her throat was raw, her eyes burning and moist. A glassy film of tears. No. No crying. This isn't cliché. Obediently, she swept her palm against her closed eyes, and then gazed furiously at him.

"I get scared sometimes at night because I think that maybe when I sleep I won't ever dream again. Even Jimena doesn't know that. I believe in an afterlife, but I sometimes cry when I consider that raccoons don't get an afterlife. How am I going to see Wally again when he dies and I die?" Her voice deepened as a wave of sorrow struck her; it was solemnity… from being exposed so thoroughly. And the world didn't end. It didn't, like she though it would. Stanton titled his head, smiling somberly, even as she giggled against her own insecurities.

"I believe in mermaids!" She threw her hands up, grinning at him. Shaking out her curls, she clasped her hands together and stared up at him, peculiar. She sure as hell was a freak by now. "And I'm terrified that I'll die tomorrow or the day after next or even a month from now. I'm terrified of dying, actually. Death is… terror."

"I'm not going to let that happen. And I'm not going to let that fear take over. I know you feel safe with your telepathy; that if your inside someone else's head, your own insecurities will be a faraway land. But your fears… your idealistic hopes. They're why I've completely fallen for you. The reason I'm completely torn apart right now. You're so… human. It's beautiful." "But it's not!" she argued, flaying her hands and shaking her head. "I feel so weak and stupid and I shouldn't be so anxious about stupid things when I have to battle a damn shadow every day of my life! A shadow of ultimate evil! Not only that, but…" She gazed at her hands. They were pale. She was cold. "I think I'm going to fail."

Stanton grasped her hands, pulling them to his chest; bringing her closer. "Stop trying to prove to me that you're not worth it. I've given my speech, and you've given yours. I think we should just stop this pathetic, cliché, and all out abnormal arguing about nothing, because it's all going to end the same."She smiled wryly. "How?" "Like this."

Aw, the "first" kiss. It was virgin passion. She drowned in the feel of him, the moistness of their lips. She swallowed the warmth of his breath, and inhaled his natural scent, like mint and air. Her fingers spread across his chest, tentative. She didn't know what to do with her hands. His were in her hair, on her shoulder, smoothing against her neck, on her waist - his hands were exploring. Not too far, though. Just… gentle. Sweet. She felt out of place; didn't know what to do. So she just sank into it all.

"It seals" - he stopped, but continued once more, out of breath, his tongue stroking her teeth, and then her tongue, against the inside of her cheeks. Tasting all of her. "It seals your fate. This kiss…"

"I know."

And frankly, I don't give a damn.