Minola Grent, Contributor

If touching her was a sin, he’d be the purest of saints. After all, you can’t touch what’s not really there. He held out his hand, offering a dance. When shivers trotted down his spine and spots gamboled in his vision, he knew her hand now rested in his. He pressed his body against hers and relished in the fragrant rose scent that clung to her as they waltzed through the lobby. He led their dance to the spiral staircase where she hopped on the handrail and tiptoed to the top, their hands never parting. The second floor basked in the moon’s gentle rays and coated the man in silver. She would have shone in the same way had she had enough flesh to bounce the light away. He jumped on the second floor’s balustrade to join her. Accidents happen quickly. Premeditated accidents happen even quicker. One moment, her icy breath brushes his ear while her warm words worm their way to his brain. The next, his heart sinks as not even the moon can save him from gravity. The thick, unrelenting rose scent glazed the inside of his nose and curdled the freely flowing blood. She hadn’t meant it, but everything had always been better in pairs.