ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕕 is a 19 year old soccer player. He has been in love with a girl, whose name he doesn't even know, for years now. She lives in the large house 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓭, for as long as he can remember. He only ever sees her watering her dying roses at the witches hour every Wednesday. But something about this dangerously beautiful creature begins to pull at his heartstrings, forming questions, answers, and even more confusing feelings.
'It was Wednesday morning again. I waited, hands sweaty, at the gate to the house 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓭. 02:56. My eyes darted around, as I ran a shaking hand through my hair. 02:57. The brief hoot of a lonely owl, pulled my brain from the abyss as I checked my watch again. 02:58. A soft rustling in the bushes. The whisper of the nightly wind in my ear. 02:59. I began to shake, sweating bullets and shivering, glancing at my watch. 02:59. The minute seemed endless, like it was trapped in the void of time. 02:59. I stood from my crouched position. 02:5-03:00.
I froze. The door clicked open, and a tall slender figure clad in a long black gown, practically floated out, green eyes bright and unblinking. The red of her rouged lips starkly contrasted to the chalky pallor of her soft skin as she walked closer to the rose bush, bathed in moonlight. I could do nothing but stare. Her beauty was unparalleled to any other human I had ever seen. She was 𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵.'