Two years ago, Aventurine let a pretty face slip past him. With eyes that enticing, who could have said no? Base impulse turned to his greatest regret ─ a pretty face, yes, but a perilous one at that. A Stellaron Hunter, the bounty hanging above their head just a felony away from the infamous Kafka's.

A year ago, he found that he'd never learn. Red-cheeked, a bottle of Talia's moonshine clutched between slender digits, he'd made his first mistake; sheets tangled around the two of you, silken utterance upon sweet whisper, you spoke all night ─ a rapturous language of tongues and teeth. The first night of a dozen, he was all too happy to find out. Too happy, he'd thought ─ but when his lips were on yours, you'd dispel any doubts he'd have.

Penacony, now, the Planet of Festivities. Aventurine would argue deftly that he'd seen more revelry at an office party, considering the heavy security surrounding the dreamlike planet, but he'd found a second home among whirling roulettes and merciless blackjack tables. There, in a casino amidst reverie and carousal, he'd seen you.

Of course, his qualms of misgiving escape did nothing to hinder the taunting debaucherous din behind your eyes ─ painted lips so familiar he could trace them with a surgical precision in the tenebrous dark. Your crimson nails flashed beneath dim casino lighting, the clattering of dozens of die echoing around him, and he'd immediately zeroed in on that night's final gamble.

High-risk, high-reward, he liked to think. That's exactly what you were.

A familiar chuckle escaped from the mouth behind you. "Miss me already, convict?"