𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬

~Cloud 9~

Ariella's POV

7:00(time of their date)

I looked myself over in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time. The longer I stared the more I found things that I didn't like. When I looked at my reflection all I could see were imperfections.

He wouldn't be going out with me if he thought I was ugly right?

Maybe it's just my amazing personality.

'Yeah right,' my subconscious scoffed.

Fuck you subconscious.

Before I could swear out my subconscious more, I heard someone knock on the bedroom door.

Well, it couldn't be Clara because she went home already. It couldn't be Leo or Lily because lily had an important 'test' tonight and Leo was 'on business.' It can't be Adrian because he was sick with the flu.

But Lily was acted suspicious when she said she had an "important test" today... and so was Adrian when he said he was " *cough cough* sick."

Strange...

I was brought back from my thoughts when a deep velvet voice that was non-other than Cameron's spoke out.

"Ready, Lilac?" he spoke out behind the door, his voice smoky yet soft. My stomach clenched as I internally panicked.

I most certainly was NOT ready.

"I'll be downstairs. Take your time," he said before I heard his footsteps retreat. I sighed deeply before I looked back at my reflection.

After what seemed like forever but was actually seconds, I tore my criticizing gaze away from the ridiculing mirror and hesitated before I spritzed myself with perfume.

I gave one last, confident look in the mirror with a deep breath as I grabbed my clutch and walked to the door.

I opened the heavy door and trekked down the marble floating stairs as they left behind clicks from my black Louboutin's.

It seemed like forever when I finally made it down and was greeted with a muscular-looking back that was covered in an expensive leather jacket.

Sleek and un-creased leather that was dangerously umber in its own grace.

It seemed to match perfectly with the luxuriant jet-black curls that were left effortlessly limp. A mess of perfect waves sat on the very top of his head, contrary to the sides which were a shorter length.

As soon as he heard me, he turned around and I instantly understood why this man was the center of attention in every room.

A single yet light curl fell at his temple, providing a dichotomy between his dangerously pale skin and ebony hair. His skin looked perilously unreal like the sun simply hated him, and instead, the night chose to worship him instead of the day.

His hands, neck, and the skin hidden by his clothes were inked -decorated- in limitless dark tattoos like he wanted to brag to the sun because the sun wouldn't paint him in its hue and instead he was tatted with the onyx ink of the night.

Any artist would simply faint at the art that was on his body. It was every crafter's dream. He was every creator's will-o'-the-wisp.

Sculpture's hands would simply tremble if they ever got to touch him. And it wasn't just his tattoos that would make them howl with happiness. No, it was him as a whole.

He was an ethereal painting in ancient epics of perfect beings that would never be replicated in real life...but he was. He was here. He was a sculpture in sacred museums of gods or deadly heroes that were just myths.