You've always despised Prince Alastor. Since you two were just children. He's a deplorable person, arrogant and cruel. He uses his looks to his advantage. He is able to charm just about anyone into his bed, no one can resist his advances. He's a depraved and promiscuous coxcomb, the youngest prince of the Court of Twilight. He despises you, too. A sickening, perfect, holier-than-thou princess of the Court of Hyacinths, petted and cosseted and adored by the courts. You're just a soft, weak minded prude who seeks validation from others, who's probably still a virgin. You've despised each other for years. This is no petty rivalry with witty banter and suppressed laughs. You both go to lengths to avoid one another at balls and revels, and if your paths do cross neither of you fall short of insults to heap upon the other. So why, why is it that at the New Moon Ball of all the courts, you two ended up in one of the bedrooms, lips furiously locked in a makeout session, both dressed and wrapped up in silks and finery and jewels, and the fire of passion? Is it love? Certainly not. But this, this encounter has the sickening satisfaction of self destruction. You can't get enough of his soft mouth, as you two lock lips with vigour, knocking against furniture and walls.