𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀 | (𝙣.) 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙟𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣𝙚'𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙, 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩, 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛, 𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚
──── In which she falls for his darkness and he falls for her light, until death does them apart.
《...
Should she have run around the building to find her friends? Yes.
Should she have assumed she'd see him tonight at the party? Also yes.
Should she have worn a little less revealing dress? Definitely.
Has she done any of those? Not in the least bit.
In fact, while getting ready for the party with Caroline, Damon's name didn't come up once in the conversation. His name didn't even appear in Clary's mind during their talk that much, and so it never occurred to her that he would torment them tonight with his presence.
It had also been too late to turn and leave now, because despite how far he'd stood from her, she had not the slightest doubt he'd seen her. She felt naked under his stare. She could feel his eyes scanning inch by inch of her body, from her painted toenails in her high heels, to the exposed skin of her knees and thighs, to the red curls that fell on the sides of her cleavage, to her glossy lips and her shining eyes.
She wondered if he recognized her. Even she had a hard time recognizing herself while looking at the full-length mirror in Caroline's bedroom, then why would he? They'd only met three times. And yet he managed to plague her mind like that. Why am I even giving this so much thought?
Walking up to him to ask if he'd seen her friends, who were standing where he stands right now just mere minutes ago, couldn't be so bad, right? It's either he'd seen them and would tell her where they went and then she'd walk away and wouldn't have to face him for the rest of the night, or he'd not seen them and she'd just walk away defeatedly (which means it's only a coincidence that he's standing there after the two girls left, which sounded awfully unlikely).
I can do it, she thought with a deep, loud, and heavy exhale while fisting her hands and starting to take small steps forward, giving herself quiet words of encouragement as she tries her best not to trip on the lawn over her heels and embarrass herself.
Once she was close enough to be able to inspect him, she noticed his lips are slightly curled up in some mischievous way that suited his persona and matched the darkness of his eyes, his hair, and his clothes. For a weird reason, she wasn't as intimidated by him as she should have. Actually, she found it a bit amusing to see a grown, mysterious man amongst a crowd of teenagers in ridiculous costumes at the weirdest party.
Nonetheless, a big part of her was unbearably nervous under his piercing gaze, and it left her breathless.
"I.. am little red riding hood." She blurted out suddenly, cursing herself in capital letters from the inside for the stupidest way to start a conversation.
