Avina stared at the sleeping man lying haphazardly on the sofa. He had red hair, which she suspected from his father, and under those eyelids were a matching set of red eyes, like his mother. His skin was a paleness from the small amount of sun he let inside.
His hand still on his head was bony. It curved as it curled within itself showing all the angles of his hands. His nails were cut short against his flesh appearing to be harmless. But Avina knew all the best what this beautiful man was capable of.
He was capable of ruining women and draining them of their life. He was capable of destroying lives under his fingertips and torturing the helpless with his mouth. This man was a person born from beauty and death.
Avina took one step towards him. She, herself, did not know what she wanted from him, but the feeling egging her on told her to move.
