The Bane of Light

Cat Got Your Tongue?

A/N- not my feelings getting hurt every time yall say Eulalia Is unlikeable as if I didn't write her in that way LMAO. Anyways, you guys really were spamming me on social media for an update, so I decided to release it as a gift :)

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Paris and I made eye contact.  He observed us. He observed me, sprawled over Clair's lap, his hands on my waist as I sat upright. By the feel of a sickening cool washing over my body, I realized my face leeched of its color. A chasm opened in my stomach, the greasy feeling of panic clawing up my throat and making me hyper aware of everything about me. My position, my posture, my limbs—everything was awkward. Everything was wrong.

And then Paris began walking towards us, because that's how Paris was. He was confrontational. And I wasn't. So I did what I did best; I ran. I jumped off of Clair's lap, blurting some random excuse about finding a bathroom, before quickly speeding into the crowd. I shoved people out of the way, weaving my way through the horde of drunk and half-nude teenagers like there was a fire on my tail. It didn't help that they were all ridiculously tall as I shoved them out of the way, unable to see past them.

I passed the refreshments table, and downed another shot of the red absinthe drink, not stopping as I swiped the cup up. I winced as I carried on walking, the burn in my throat equalling the burn in my thighs from my rushed pace. I sped my way through the crowd, my drink sloshing in my cup. It spilled over the rim and I narrowly dodged the spray with my white outfit. Gods damnit. This is why I never wear white. I snatched another cup from a students hand, and downed it entirely, not bothering to check what was in it. I didn't care. I needed it.

I heard Paris' voice from directly ahead of me, and I froze, eyes wide. I quickly turned in the other direction, ready to run, but stilled when the crowd parted, and a pair of green eyes caught mine. My shoulders hunched up, as his dark pupils roved over my outfit, and then met mine again. Shock was depicted in his wide eyes, his cheeks flushed.

It was too late to run away as he made his way towards me. Ripping my eyes from the stare down we were locked in, I finally allowed myself to examine the rest of his body. I could hear the racing pulse in my ears, banging like a ominous drum. My stomach contracted in on itself as I felt nauseated, my arms terse and unsure on what to do. It was as though I was ripped from my own skin and planted into one that was entirely unfamiliar, uncomfortable and less appealing than my own.

"Now what the Hell are you?" I asked him when he reached me, looking him over up and down judgmentally. I took the initiative to strike, refusing to give him the pleasure of criticizing me first. My hackles rose, and a mirthless smile situated itself on my face. It was tight and fake, and I was half-scared that Paris would see right through it. I felt sick. 

I circled him him like a lynx, trying to figure out what his costume was. He looked absolutely Adonic. Paris was obviously dressed as a Greek God of sorts. A white, short toga adorned his body, revealing half his chiseled chest, and clasping on one shoulder with a golden brooch. The toga was short, ending mid thigh, and had golden string at the waist. He adorned gladiator sandals, and a golden wreath in his blonde hair. The golden bow and nock of arrows over his shoulder were the only indicators of which olympian he was.

"Apollo?" I asked, raising a thin eye brow at him. He shook his head, his cheeks red. Paris shifted, his tan chest rippling. There was glitter on his cheekbones, brushing his long lashes. He was practically glowing.

"Paris" He stated. My face shifted into a look of displeasure, not understanding what he was on about. He saw the confusion, and quickly clarified, "I'm Paris of Troy. That who killed Achilles with a shot arrow. The Greek hero who my mother named me after"