I’m twenty-one, at a bar, looking for someone to talk to. Preferably someone good-looking.
Suddenly, I think I’ve died because an angel has appeared right next to me. But he doesn’t look like the angels I’ve imagined. His hair is unkempt in a rougish way, and he emanates a feeling of freedom and excitement.
Suddenly, a miracle happens, and he turns to me, saying, “Greetings, I am Aeonium. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
Such old-fashioned speech, he must be an angel. Aeonium. I try to fit my mouth around the strange sounding word, “Aeonium, I am Aldina.”
He lifts my hand and kisses it, my heart flutters, “Well met, fair Aldina.”
“A nice apartment?” He asks. He is dying to hear if I’m sharing it with someone, I can see it in his eyes. He is straining against asking the blunt question. Such little patience, for one who has lived so long.
“Yes, very nice,” I reply. I will not give into him. I will be strong this time. I will not give him what he wants. He will have to fight for it.