Atarah
"I really can't dance, Ansel." I mumbled thickly; my voice was barely above a whisper and he smiled. The very familiar teasing smile as he held my warm hands in his cold ones, pulling me closer to him.
"Oh, trust me, Atarah, I know." He whispered back, the smile on his face never wavered as he looked into my eyes and I felt something very weird fluttering in my abdomen. With him, my stomach always felt sick but my heart— it felt alive. He gives me chill, indeed but he also provides me warmth, I never knew I was capable of feeling before.
"Then why do you want to make me dance?" I almost whined but smiled when I felt curious gazes on us. They were scared, of course. They were scared of me. What if I accidentally touch them? Poor elites would go bald. The thought was ridiculous,
