Still effervescent with the innocence of a girl, Rosemary finds she can no longer resist the shadows of the forest despite her father's warnings. Days pass and Rose, for all her concern and quiet devotion, leaves the warm clutches of her parents more and more. Living tucked into the warmth of her father's shadows has taught no lesson Litotes thought it would; instead, Rose seeks out the darkness even more, desperate to know the comforting touch of a stranger's nuanced, twisted magic.

Flippant with youth and the confidence of a beautiful, pursued girl, the smile on Rose's face is wide and untarnished. She steps with a sway and a flick of her tail, so certain of herself without the barren, hollow arrogance that often accompanies youthful breeziness. So full of life, that Rosemary, so unaware of the monsters that would love nothing more than to swallow her innocence like a heartily seasoned meal.

For all that innocence, that fervent appetite for life, Rose's affinity for darkness manifests quite plainly. Dying in a Halloween quest and carrying magic she does not know of has not changed her attitude, but it has given her power she has yet to learn lessons from. And isn't that where innocence finds danger? When naivety and power collide? To see others so clearly and call them so easily - perhaps she will grow old with mistakes, with accidentally broken hearts and the weight of strangers' secrets.

But she doesn't know that suffering - oh, that clear and precise lack of suffering. It shows in her proud head and wickedly beautiful smile.

So, when she stumbles upon Molech and senses the weight and sees the stormy haze surrounding him, she doesn't turn away. The sensation settling upon her shoulders is comfortable. Not yet too much to carry. He reminds her of the monsters she loves, their fascinating lack of morality - their darkness. She doesn't question her magic, not yet. She simply folds into it:

"Hi," Rose purrs, so very pleased, "Are you out at night because you like it, too?"

Oh, she loves him. Loves him immediately. Loves him to the marrow of his bones.

Molech is so dark and striking and that black gleam he gives off reflects in the sparkle of Rosemary's eyes. She wants to wrap herself in his silvery aura, inhale it until it poisons her lungs and leaves her breathless, lifeless. She wonders if he wants her to drink him up, to choke on the shadows surrounding him. And what she thinks as she imagines dying on the forest floor before him: oh, how Father wouldn't approve and mother would worry.

"Little shadow . . ." Rose purrs back at him, batting long, navy eyelashes at his nickname. Her cheeks grow hot but not with some true bashfulness, no. The little gemstone sense their game, plays her naivety like a chess piece. (If only she knew - if only - how her knowledge of games dwarfed compared to his.) Rose tilts her head to the side and smiles, flicking her head just enough to throw a piece of mane out of her eyes.

"How I would hate to disappoint," she murmurs, holding Molech's gaze with the steady daring of a petulant girl. If only she knew how she sounded like her father - she might be disgusted. She might toss her head and turn away, finding out her parents have lives and personalities and years of mistakes she can't begin to understand; but she doesn't know, unfortunately for her, and she tumbles into the darkness like her father did years and years before. (Though Litotes never knew something so sinister, such innocent desire for darkness, and he'd weep for his daughter if he could.)

"I'm Rosemary. It's such a pleasure to meet you, Molech," Rose answers confidently, lifting her head and shaking out the soft tendrils of her mane. The locks fall like feathery waterfalls, glittering and fluffy. The tickling against her nape makes her giggle to herself and a jolt of arrogance presses her a few steps closer to the dark stranger.

"I can see your aura, Molech. It's black and it glitters. What do you think that means?" Her question is coy, followed by an almost teasing tilt of her head. She smiles, small and suggestive, lips curling hesitantly like she's keeping a secret.

The liquid in Rosemary's stomach churns and curdles, twists her innards into fairy knots. The way her name sounds so dark and lovely on his tongue - the upset stomach is pleasant, almost. An ache Rose welcomes like the embrace of an estranged loved one.

Molech offers what feels like praise and the little shadow is so very keen to purr and curl beneath his affections. Her dark lashes flutter with delight while a pleased, girlish gasp passes from her slightly opened lips. The sneer on his face startles but does not frighten her (in fact, she finds it devilishly handsome, that quick snap). Rose's eyes roil and darken as she studies each twitch of his emotions, eyes glued to the curl of his mouth and flick of his tongue.

Rose doesn't expect Molech to close the last bit of space between them, but she isn't taken aback. Instead, her pulse hammers so loudly in her throat she is she he can hear it. He seems to feed on her desire, however it may manifest, and Rose wants so terribly to be his favorite meal. Her eyes dart everywhere: the plants around them, the swirling darkness, the arch and roll of Molech's neck as his breath traces her jaw. She isn't breathing now, the air in her lungs so still that even slightest unsettling might send it exploding out of her mouth.

"No," she whispers on that explosive breath, stumbling forward to push her nose into the tangles of Molech's mane. Her chest heaves up and down and she hopes he doesn't pull away each time it brushes quiverlingly against his. "Are you going to leave me?" she asks, barely audible. It's a silly question to ask: of course he'll leave her. It's a certain fate for them.

But the thought of that ache, the missing his darkness when he is not around, warms her.

She longs for it.

"I've never met anyone like you."