Selena stared at the picture before her. The women staring back had mock laughter in her eyes and a mysterious coy smile playing on pouting lips. Her face was classically beautiful. Her black hair cropped around her ears and slicked into little finger waves sculpting around of her oval face. Her glittering almond shaped eyes shining with the same mystic darkness as her raven hair. Her skin, a perfect powdery white, covered her slim nose and sculpted cheekbones. She sat on the lap of an equally breathtaking man, who could be only to opposite looking from her dark beauty. His face was chiseled and his shoulders broad. Even with the faded black and white of the picture, Selena could tell he had very light coloring. She could imagine the glittering curls in his hair that he could never get to slick down into the painstakingly hairstyles of the 20s. She envisioned the big turquoise eyes as they looked up playfully at the young women posing like a cat about to spring off his lap. He is caught in the midst of movement, blurring his fair hair, shrouding his head, giving him an almost angelic look. She sighed sadly at at the couple and flipped the photo over to its back side. On its tail end, you could still make out the faded word laced with teardrops and heartache “Pour ma belle dame sans miséricorde” For my beautiful woman without mercy. And directly beneath that written in the same neat script were the simple words that nearly ripped her heart and soul in two. “Je t'aime Alice” I Love You Alice. Then it was simply signed by the name Benet. That was his name, and she had loved him more than word could describe, and yet she had stole into the night about 85 years ago and had not dared to look back until this very moment. Sitting at the the little coffee shop where they had met in the city of Arles. Arels was a beautiful city lost in time, just like her. From far away looking into the old stain glass window, Selena looked like any other young French woman. Seeming not a day over 21, she was as beautiful now as she was then. Her face was still breathtaking as many of her kind were. They were the Plus jeune ancien or in English, the Youngest old. From the day they are born to the end of the world the Plus jeune ancien walk amongst the normal man. They live lives filled with flashing lights, big parties, and extravagant lifestyles. Being a very small percentage of the world they mostly never meet, to them the world seems to be a smaller place when you have to share all of its addicting wonder, and that brings out darkness in them all. And yet if she were to look up you would see some little changes, her hair is longer to draw less attention and she now wears a knee length black gauzy dress. Yet that didn't seem like much of change. It was her eyes. Like the photo they are still the swarthy black color of a moonless night but the twinkle in them had gone. They had been snuffed out with years of running from a long past, endless night of parties, faceless people, substance abuse, and the woe of a broken heart. And as she stared at that one meager Name that could tear the shred of humanity that had been the only thing that had barely binded her together for 80 years and she began to slip. Selena stood quickly, hot tears pooling in her eyes and spilled freely down her pale cheeks. She dashed for the crowded exit, crashing in a hard shoulder. As she darted out of the exit, the stranger called to her in a deep french. But she just kept running, like always, but this time she didn't have anyplace to go. She ran until she found herself curled over the side of an old forgotten fountain, the weeds crawling out of the drain and ivy climbing up the side, slowly killing it until one day it just became nothing but a shell of its former self. Another ruin of the city. Just like her. Selena just stayed bent over gasping for breath, crying tears of sorrow she should have shed long ago. He was gone. He had been gone for years. She knew and it made her cry harder. The beauty and elegance that brightened our earth is only in bloom for so long before it wilts and dies, replaced with something equal in it beauty. And that has been part of curse. Walking the the earth like a ghost in an eternal haunt, she saw empires rise and fall, the strongest of men crash to their knees, and the sweetest of loves become a drug that is poison in your blood. She had found light in her darkness, the person that hung the stars in sky and moved the sun from east to west. But she had left, to afraid to see him wilt. Not wanting to see bright mischievous eyes, that had woken her from her eternal sleep, dim and fade away. It was to painful. Selena coughed and started to giggle, uncontrollable laughter bubbled up from her tired stomach and spilled out over her lips. This was it? She thought, she had finally cracked after lifetimes of running, she had finally been snared in her own sadness. Forced into some french sanitarium for the rest of her dragged out life. Just then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and heard a deep soft voice, the one from the coffee shop. Why was he here? “Pourquoi donc triste belle femme?” Why so sad beautiful woman? He asked in a quiet mocking voice. Who did this man think he was? Did he not see she was in agony? Selena whirled around and began to yell at him in rusty french “Qui Ne-?!” Who do-?! She began and then stopped mid sentence. His eyes. They were Turquoise, as full of life as they had been when she left. Benet stood before her, dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt. Looking extremely alive. His hair gold and his skin tan. “Bonjour Amour, comment faites-vous?” Hello Love, How do you do? He said lazily, a wicked smile playing on his lips.