The event begins anew, another round to kick off the evening as the sun slips below the horizon and the bonfire burns on. Some couples recede into the night, together or alone, to return to their respective homes or further learn about one another (had Reichenbach not been such a fool perhaps we too could have gotten to know each other a little better). I am left with a bad taste in my mouth as I watch others disperse, standing alone as we receive our new matches.

I read the name, raising my head and meeting a tangle of bodies, at a serious disadvantage (I hate being so short) as I scan the crowd for a face I do not know. "Mathèo?" I call out, bubblegum cast over the sea of intermingling Helovians and anxiously waiting for an answer.

I'm hoping for a better chance this time around, for someone who won't look down on me like I'm too young or some shit along those lines. To think that Reichenbach restrained himself because he considered me too young, doesn't he know how much I need it? How much I crave that attention, those rough touches from strangers whose names I would never remember. I wanted to find him now, to call out his name and tell him that if he didn't want me now, he wouldn't get me ever. But that's not what I told him as the bull whip cracked and we parted ways. I told him where to find me, gave him an opportunity to come crawling back if the need ever arose (would it? Or will I just be getting my hopes up on seeing him again?).

Now where's my new partner?

-- @Mathèo

I'm waiting for too long (a lady in waiting, where's my shining knight in golden armour?), holding my crowned head high as bubblegum searches, desperate to catch sight of whatever handsome man I'd been paired with (what a disappointment this is gonna be). It's a hunger, a thirst, having been left high and dry by Reichenbach, my knees are shaking and my thighs are tensed, my whole body aches for what I cannot (and will not) have tonight.

Instead, I see some small toddler approaching, responding with his title as he weaves past the grown bodies, a petite child aglow with sunlight. He's basking in it even if it's nowhere to be found, with the sun setting behind us and my eyes tracing over the glow that outlines his ivory figure, a brow rising in curiosity and wonderment (why does he glow? Is he solar powered?). With a horned brow and winged shoulders, he is the complete package, everything I am not. He is radiant and childish, an air of innocence draped over his grullo body, an otherworldly glow almost boasting the power in his blood, flashing the divine gold that courses through his veins with elegance and refinement. And I?

I am the dirty nobody, the ghastly face haunting only the dreams of the grasses and flowers I trample in my rage, the trees who feel my piercing bullets when my itch to practice my sloppy magic comes, when I scream at nobody in particular in the safety of the Forest, because my mother has left me, my sister is gone, and nobody cares enough to look for her. Or me. I'm the faux prince, the fabled future king who is nothing more than a poor boy playing make believe, a child still admiring fairy tales and grand stories of glistening kingdoms and powerful leaders. I'm the young boy idolizing the wrong people, adoring the power behind corrupt kings and the silver tongued politicians, thinking the brutal soldiers who cut down anyone that stands against them are heroes. It makes me something I wasn't expecting— dark, demented, a twisted face distorted from abuse I could not take, crippled by expectations I could not meet.

I look down at Mathèo, raising a black brow and letting sweet pink eyes sweep over the gold-marked boy's body, hesitant to speak. "Aren't you a little young to be here? What are you looking for?" I was there once, the boy thinking he is old enough, thinking he is a man, convincing himself that he can get away with it because he is mature enough. But was I? No, never. I always thought that I was, because I could not accept that my world was smaller because of my age, condensed into some sort of shitty, G-rated shit show until I burst through into adulthood, until maturity swept my childish innocence out from under me. And then I was hitting the ground running, booking headlong into an even bigger shit show, where emotions and sex existed, where responsibility and confusion lay in waiting for me to make the wrong move (which I did, and still do). So I look at the Golden Boy, waiting for the child.

The boy shrugs with his big ivory wings, my eyes following the movement carefully (what is it like to fly?)— he's right, there was no age restriction, at least not one that I had seen, so I suppose he had as much of a right to be here as me (or anyone really). "Got me there," I shrug, mimicking the motions the boy had previously done, but without the heavy (are they heavy?) wings on my black shoulders. "But doesn't it feel a little weird for someone as young as yourself to be talking to a bunch of drunk older men? Are you being safe?" My bi-coloured brow knits at the last question, looking at the glowing boy with my gut twisting. I'm not worrying over the colt's safety, but it's a dangerous world out there, sometimes stallions are heartless, aggressive and cold— I've had my experiences with a few, but never within Helovia's borders, so perhaps it's safer here.

The roles are reversed (now I know how Reichenbach felt) as I look down at the young colt, an ear swaying back as I look over the golden boy with his ashen features and soft figure— he's still very much a child (but so am I), still growing, in that awkward phase with legs too long and a head too big, wings still dainty and approaching the end of their molting. Bubblegum takes in the child and I can feel the disappointment in the release of tension in my thighs, in the way they ease back and my body finally accepts that I won't be taking anyone for the night (not with luck like this). "Well, I don't know if that makes me uneasy or concerned for the youth of today because I wasn't quite talking about who you're interested in, but what. Because I really don't think we're here looking for exactly the same thing, I know where my interests lie, you're probably young and exploring your options." I being one of those youth, with lavish desires that should never be wanted by a child so young— so hearing Mathèo say that our pairing must be a sign makes my stomach turn because I don't even think about the fact that he meant our common interest in men (get your mind out of the gutter Kid), but thought instead about why I was here to get laid.

"Have you seen anyone to your liking? Or are they all a little scared of talking to a kid?" (get it?) I'm trying to weasel out some suggestions from the colt, hoping to catch a name, because he's certainly been paired with at least one other stallion (hopefully a hot one) and if they weren't interested in him, maybe they'll be taking a peek at me (who wouldn't?). Just another scheme to see if I have one last chance of snagging someone for the night (or the moment, depending on how long they last).