Autumn.

People find it beautiful. People find it thrilling and enticing. But she hates it.

Hates how everything is too bright and yet so dull. She hates the auburn colours that adorn the leaves that slowly, slowly, slowly shed from the slowly, unnoticeably dying branches. She hates the way it's always, always chilly with a mix of a weird warm that makes your skin feel funny; she likes it when it's freezing.

And she hates everything about autumn, because she's in love with winter. Cold, freezing, bone-chilling winter.

But people don't like winter. Why? Because their perceptions of winter are dry skin, chapped lips, and cold cold cold with lots and lots of snow.

But she's different. She's different because if you ask her about winter, she'll tell you about hot chocolate, beautiful snow, warm blankets and constellations you'd never heard of. She breathes the same air, but she's different.

And you'll find her alone on the small bridge a few meters from her home, stargazing and sometimes she'll lie down. Sometimes she'll lie down on a deserted bridge all alone in the evening, watching the sky being painted in a dozen colours from horizon to horizon all because of something as simple as sunset.

But from time to time you'll find someone lying next to her, with one hand in hers and the other in her dark, dark, ebony hair. You'll find him next to her, with a small smile on his face as he runs his fingers through her hair. Maybe never. Maybe sometimes, or once in a while. But never always.

First times are important. Every single first time; they all count. So do first encounters.

Normal encounters should start with 'Hello's...or 'Hi's. Or maybe smiles, and awkward waves, and maybe a few stumbles and stutters. But their's was different.

She'd been stargazing again; sitting and leaning on one side of the bridge with her arms perched atop her knees. It's getting kind of late, but she's sure her parents wouldn't mind. She's a weird child by nature anyway. Damaged.

When a figure suddenly plops down next to her, she doesn't seem the least bit surprise. Nor shocked. Her mentality's way too tired to form an appropriate reaction to things. But when she looks to her right, all she can see is white. Ash-white hair that looks messy but soft. And dark eyes lightly smudged with black kohl making it seem times more mysterious. And pale skin with papery lips. Long, slim fingers that seem to be offering her something; a drink of sorts...maybe coffee?

But just as she's about to say something, the thin pair o