Maisie
He was seated at one end of the steel table in an orange, ugly jumpsuit, wrapped up in silver chains that went around his ankles, his wrists, his chest in criss-crosses.
But he might as well have been sitting on a throne. It was his poise. The graceful way he carried himself. The precise tilt of his too sharp jawline, and the expression that breathed aristocratic arrogance and stoicism.
He turned the full weight of his stare to me, and it was all I did not to back up. His eyes were ever swirling. The pupils were a round ring of burning flames, and surrounded by it was the ring of his iris, blue as the sea.
They bore into me and I realized I'd forgotten not to look in the forbidden beauty of them. They warped around me, holding me captive, and in that split second, I felt him in my mind.
