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From the very moment I met this Earth it was clear to my family, and the entirety of Pop Village for that matter, that I was a troll who just embodied the spirit of Christmas.
From the little lines fading from red to white to red once again in my hair or the stripes following the same color scheme on my arms and legs, even down to the strange heterochromatic-ness of my eyes it is clear to anyone in the world. Troll, Bergen, Rageon, or even Vacaytioner, any of them can see that I am practically a living, breathing, candy cane.
My parent's genes had decided to combine me in such a way that I was, without a doubt, the most Christmas-approved in our village, or perhaps even species.
This came with many perks, but the drawbacks far outweighed it. The constant call of carols in the winter, the out-of-place puns any other season, even the odd white and red marble of my blood was Christmas themed.
Maybe that was what had drawn him in on second thought, the allure of something sweet and ever so tied to the holiday best known for uniting families, that had been so eye-catching about me.
The morning I had met Floyd there had been a pumpkin-spice-colored sunrise, a deep orange fading from yellow to red. I remember it distinctly because I sat pondering if there were any pumpkin-themed trolls out there, ones that got comments in October and November about the holidays then. Ones that got tired of the jokes about jack-o'-lanterns in February and waited from those months to end because it was taking a toll on their mood.
Sometimes I wonder if going grey would be a better thing to endure than what I do. Sometimes I wonder if that'd finally end all of the tired references and overused puns.
It was then that I saw him, climbing atop his own pod and positioning himself so he could peer into the retreating darkness at the moon as it was chased away. Not seeming to see me when I turned my head to look at him.
He was... Well he'd always had an appeal to him, we had been raised within the same village before his band had taken off and he'd left for tours. I'd been hopelessly in love with the older heartthrob of the band at the time though, but so was everyone within a hundred-mile radius. But once I grew older I saw more of a man I'd date in Floyd.
In his sarcasm in interviews, I remembered from our days as younglings. In his empathy.
It was these thoughts that had gotten to me. That had kept my gaze on him a bit too long. That had promoted him to turn and meet my eyes.
Before I could think I turned away, Though it was less embarrassment than it was a default for me.
"Good morning!" He'd called, smirking I soon learned when I turned back. "Beautiful morning isn't it?"
"Sure is," I responded, trying my best to convey the message that I was simply not engaging him before and not being a stereotypical romance novel protagonist. "But can we really call it morning if bother the sun and moon are in their places? There ought to be another word for times such as this."
He huffed a laugh, soft like honey on toast or grenadine slipping through the ice. "You're on to something there. Maybe you should make one. I'd love to hear it."
"I don't think it's up to me," I responded, sighing in an obviously overdramatic way to match the emerging playful energy. "But I'll tell you when I think of one."
He smirked, turning his full body to face me, him to the sunrise and I to the setting moon. "I'll be looking forward to it."
...
After that, it became a common occurrence to be visited by the ex-pop star, with the greeting almost always being "Think of a word yet?" And the response without fail is some sarcastic variant of "Not just yet."
The cycle spun round and round for the majority of the two years he and his brothers settled back into the village, save for Spruce who stayed with his wife, presumably, on Vacay Island.
The strange courtship was unusual, but effective, as the more we talked the more we grew closer to one another. Confiding in eachother with all issues big or small, whispered secrets in the dark.
And more importantly, it gets more intimate.
The whole thing starts with a kiss, a slight warmth, and a tear in my delicate skin, one lick too many.
His eyes grow wide and immediately he's easing himself up back into a sitting position on the couch.
Licking his lips.
"Woah." He breathes, those pink eyes I've come to know blown as he touches his lower lip with a finger. "What was that?"
"Sorry, I have really breakable skin." I chuckle, cheeks aflame, "kind of goes with the whole candy cane thing."
“So good..." Comes the muse, as he presses my palm to his.
"I just want to eat you alive." He breathes, eyes half-lidded.
"Then why don't you?" I think I say, I'm not entirely sure as I didn't consciously think before the words were out.
"I... I didn't know it was an option." He breathes, laughing ever so slightly. "Didn't realize it was, on the table."
"Ha ha very funny. I'm laughing so hard." I huff, "And this is a couch.“
“Fair point." He laughs softly, pressing back into a kiss, burning with passion, decorated with a tangy taste of candy undertones.
I reciprocate, the cut widens, and sooner there are teeth in the wound.
Digging into the sensitive nerve.
A squeeze of my hand, a question.
I answer.
My eyes, were gummy, drooling with soft trickles of something like tears.
“You're worse than alcohol." He whispers, sounding utterly irritated at the fact.
“That's the first time
Lips, teeth on my skin, roving across my skin.
Little holiday Hersey kisses pooling from my wounds, from my eyes, from my head.
The throbbing is heavenly, a searing pain only the divine would be able to inflict.
He traces his hands over my collarbones, apologizing, talking about have addicting I am. "Worse than drugs." He breathes as he bites my lip.
"Worse than weed." He croons as the world flickers in my vision and my flesh sews itself back together with each saline drop.
"Worse than the sweetest of sugars." He admits, licking at my bleeding cheek.
I flush on impact, giggling ever so slightly as I push gently at his cheeks, signaling the end of this newness.
He falls. Back, wiping his face, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly, hands bloodied with the swirling or crimson and snow that I've stained him with.
Grinning like an idiot.
“Too soon?" Floyd chuckles, eyes half-lidded and smile still locked in a dopey upturn.
I roll my eyes, wiping at the remnant on my skin, popping my index in my mouth, and giving him a sly smirk that could match his nonchalantness. “At least take me out to dinner first."
"Of course.“ He chuckles, brushing a bit of blood-drenched hair from my face, “Can't go having dessert before dinner can I?"
“I'm afraid not." I sigh, playing along. "Wouldn't want you to spoil your appetite."
"Oh, please” He Snickers, pressing a blood-free kiss to my scalp. “You could never."
"Right.“ I say, flicking his forehead as I lay back on the couch, his head resting on my collarbones. “Well, don't overindulge. You'll get a sweet tooth."
Floyd smirks, and he takes my bloody hand and presses a gentle kiss to it, licking his lips once more as he gazes up at me, a smug look on his face as he winks. “Oh, darling you've already given me one."