The Most Beautiful Girl in the World (OTA)
Walking down the street was one John Mitchell. In one arm were nearly four dozen roses (he'd dropped a few on his way from the flower shoppe). In his free hand was both a poem (Yeats), and his messager. On his messager is a picture of Raven.
The most wonderful, beautiful girl that Mitchell had ever met in all of his 118 years. Just the thought of her made him stop, sigh, and gaze toward the sky. How she managed to look so beautiful just doing something as ordinary as eating cereal made his undead heart thud in his chest.
He caught himself not moving and jerked himself forward, nearly into someone. "It's for Raven," he blurted, grinning and showing the picture on his phone. "Raven."
Raven.
The most wonderful, beautiful girl that Mitchell had ever met in all of his 118 years. Just the thought of her made him stop, sigh, and gaze toward the sky. How she managed to look so beautiful just doing something as ordinary as eating cereal made his undead heart thud in his chest.
He caught himself not moving and jerked himself forward, nearly into someone. "It's for Raven," he blurted, grinning and showing the picture on his phone. "Raven."
Raven.