There, on the rocks, was a figure—my real stranger. I had no proof, no validation. The blood in my veins knew he was the one.
He had spiked short hair on the top, a soft kind of faux hawk. Some sleek, longer strands reached the base of his neck.
He was also shirtless, but the thing that caught my attention, that made me do a double-take, was what appeared to be a pair of wings on this pale figure’s back. A pair of ashen-grey, draconic wings. They came up slightly over his shoulders, and the tips were folded across the small of his back.
It was a beautiful night. The waves were gently washing in upon the shore. And there this pristine figure calmly sat.