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I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that I had to have him. He was beautiful--sixteen years of age, with entrancing mismatch eyes: the right one a creamy pool of milk chocolate, and the left a torrent of sinuous blood. His hair was the perfect shade of blonde, and always set in flawless ringlets. <br />
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Always he wore the sweetest dresses--the definition of elegant Lolita†. My favorite was an earth-tone one he loved to wear. It was velour, with a layered skirt lined in lace, and long sleeves that bellowed out over his little hands--hands that were always hugged neatly in a pair of white lace gloves. It was covered in beautiful little bows, and wonderfully decorated with lace. I liked the skirt the most, though--sweet, and simple with ribbons hanging from it every few centimeters or so. The way it puffed out, and flounced when he walked fascinated me. I found myself reaching out to touch the sweet fabric more than once--just to see if it was as soft as I imagined. <br />
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It was. . . <br />
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His make up was always just enough. Black lined his wide, trusting eyes, and a sweet pink shimmer always glistened on those full, pouty lips. He was always smiling, as if he didn't know that something was wrong with him. I couldn't help but feel bad for him--such a sweet little child born into the wrong body. <br />
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Maybe, though, that wasn't the case. Maybe he was normal as a child. I didn't know him at that age, and I can hardly speak for it--but I know him now--at the tender age of sixteen, and still thinking as if he were merely six. <br />
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It was raining out the very first day I met him. I remember that well, for he was the first sight I laid my eyes upon as I took refuge into the Tavern his brother owned. There he was, as innocent as ever, on his knees on a chair that he'd pulled to the window, one hand on the windowsill, his ski-jump nose mashed 'gainst the pane. I almost laughed when I saw him--but then, I saw that doll he held so lovingly in his arms. She was beautiful--the finest porcelain, with rosy cheeks, and curly blonde hair. <br />
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I must admit I thought him a girl at first--who wouldn't? As I stepped closer, he looked up from watching the rain, and smiled at me. My heart fluttered.<br />
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