Never Say Never (Snippet Sunday 2.12.17)

Welcome to Snippet Sunday on Darkling Dreams!

Where writers come together to share a few sentences (8-10) of their current project — whether it’s a recently released novel, a WIP (work in progress), or an older manuscript that’s being revived. Intended to hook readers, gather feedback and build an author’s fan base, Snippet Sunday is the FB group that does all three.

snippet sunday

January has come and gone and we’re onto February now. I’m quite upset the groundhog decided we needed six more weeks of winter, I’m ready for Spring. My writing goals and endeavors have royally been screwed up this year so far, but for this month I am going to be sharing from something I just started. I’m no longer sure what it’s going to turn into exactly (short story or novella), and I’m also no longer sure when I’m going to finish it, but it’s been fun to write so far so we’ll see. This month I’ve taken a new path in my snippets while I share from Clockwork Heart, a steampunk, fantasy, modern-cross story. It’s still a WiP and I only have the first chapter completed so please excuse an errors and suggestions are welcome.

This week’s excerpt picks up right from last week’s snippet. For refreshing purposes, they were talking about traveling the world.

~*~*~*~

“I think you would love it,” he said softly, plucking a hexagonal flower from the grass and twirling it between two fingers.

“I do not understand love, Eric.”

He wore that same pained expression he had once classified to her as sadness, and she did not understand why he was sad.

“I know,” he whispered, “but I wish I could teach you what it’s like. I wish I could teach you all emotions and sensations, and that you would be able to feel it too.”

“It is not possible.”

The matter of fact response made the pain in his expression deepen and again she knew she had done something wrong, but she could not understand what. Upon the next breeze that blew over the hill Eric let the flower be carried away on its stream, watching it with a strange wistful expression. He had that expression more often than not around her anymore.

“Never say never, Lavinia,” Eric replied softly, staring off. “I think you would love it. To travel and see the wonders of my world. To see Earth, the ocean, forests. Clockwork is so…modernized. There is not enough of…this,” he gestured around at the rare piece of green landscape surrounding them, “around here. Not enough wilderness and wildness. I think you would love the freedom, the change. I wish you would change your mind and let me show you my world.” His eyes landed on hers, hovering for a moment before he looked off with a sigh.

~*~*~*~

Technically, he did just say never twice, but…we’ll overlook that.


Due to the fact this is a new WiP, I do not have a cover or blurb yet, neither is it posted to Wattpad at this time. So there will be no “if you wish to read more…”

However! If you wish to read anything else that I have out for free, you can hop on over to  my profile on Wattpad and check out what I have to offer. Or if you wish to read my debut release, Embermyst, you can find out more about that in the tabs above. (I’m working on the tabs, bare with me.) I love to hear any and all feedback on my work as well. Comments are greatly appreciated, as are the reads. You can also find me on my Facebook author page to keep up to date with all that’s going on in my writing.

And if you’re looking for some other great snippets of fellow authors,
hop on over to Facebook and check out Snippet Sunday!

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Traitor (Wednesday Words 2.8.17)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off an occurrence prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Traitor

Two guards bowed their heads and pushed the doors open for him as he came to the room. He gave them a nod of acknowledgement, eyes grim as he stepped inside the room and the door closed behind him. Grey eyes swept over the room, taking in the surroundings. The long war table was pristine and empty, all ten chairs pushed in. None of the shelves of various books and scrolls were disturbed, everything neat in its place. His eyes lingered on the large symbol scorched on the stone floor with a touch of disgust before he turned his expression blank and looked up to see his father standing by the window, looking out with hands clasped behind his back.

“You wanted to see me, father?” he asked cordially after years of perfecting the most placid tone of obedience.

He turned around, red robes swishing. “Yes. I did. Have a seat, Rylan.” He gestured to one of the war chairs and it pulled outward on its own by magic.

There was something in this steely gaze, something in his tone that set off red alarms through his head. His shoulders tensed, straightening as he reached to clasp his hands behind his back now, lightly touching one against the knife hidden in his belt. “No thank you. I would rather stand.”

His father’s jaw clenched. “Have it your way.” He walked around the table toward him, causing Rylan to tense subtly, hand resting just above the hilt of his knife. “I hear you made a blunder in your last hunt.”

Rylan mentally cursed a string of colorful words and his blood ran cold with alarm. He should have known that was going to get back to him. Well, it proved one thing, his father had been having him tailed for the past few months. Now it was going to catch up to him, in a potentially deadly way.

“You wanted me to deliver my own mother to Lucifer for eternal damnation and slavery,” he replied coldly, eyes not leaving his father’s movements with a calculating gaze.

“Yes. I did. She committed treason to me, to our realm. There was no other choice left for her acts.” He trailed his hand over the table as he walked. “However, I saw to it your lack of…resolve was rectified afterward. Your lapse in judgment in our law could have cost us much had word gotten out. Should rumors have reached the Council’s ears of rebellion in our midst, you could have spun us into a war over petty mercy!” He banged his hand on the table, rage blazing in his eyes now. “A follower of our God cannot show such weakness! You are one of his greatest instruments for hunts because of your title.”

Rylan stilled, now gripping his knife till he was sure his knuckles were white. “What did you do to her?” he whispered, the color draining from his face.

“That is no longer any of your concern.”

“By Hell it is!”

“Don’t you swear to the God you just betrayed by defying your duties! Your mother made you soft.” He sneered, looking him up and down with such disappointment.

Rylan’s jaw tightened now, heart racing. “My mother made me a decent person, that’s more than I can say for you,” he growled lowly.

“How dare you insult me!”

“You take insult to me implying you’re an evil tyrant ruling over this realm? I thought you had thicker skin than that, father, that’s what you always taught me. At least tried to.”

Storm colored eyes flashed with a red sheen for only a second. “You’re a disgrace,” he hissed, balling a fist before opening it to kindle a ball of fire in his palm. “A bastard son would have been better than you.”

“You mean like the one you had killed?” he retorted.

The fireball came hurling at him. Rylan released the hold on his knife and threw his hands up to deflect it around him before it burned away to sparks raining down. “The only good your mother ever did was complete her duties as a wife. She betrayed this realm and deserved the fate she received. I would watch your next step carefully, Rylan, for you are on thin ice and treading treason yourself for defying orders. You have one final chance to own up to your name, your position.”

His fists clenched, lowering his hands. “I don’t give a damn about title and position. I don’t give a damn about earning your favor anymore. You were abusive to her, and she did everything in her power to protect me from your wrath and your ruthlessness! I didn’t want the position you gave me in Lucifer’s hunters, I didn’t want to track down innocent witches or warlocks to damn forever to him. I only did it to try to earn your favor.”

The Head Elder’s nostrils flared in fury, another fireball lighting in his hand. “So you are turning your back on your people too? You are going to be a traitor just like your peasant mother and commit treason?”

“You made that choice for me when you told me I had to send my own mother to Hell. The only person who ever truly cared for me.”

“You disgrace,” he spat. “You’re no son of mine.”

The doors banged back open at the same time his father hurled the fireball. Rylan ducked, eyes pulsing to red as he spun to catch sight of the guards rushing him. Shoving magic out in a blast, he managed to push back the guards. Red smoke curled up around his feet and just as he began to flee in a disappearing act he heard the distinct whistle of something metallic flying through the air, then a sharp pain pierce his shoulder at the very last second before he was gone.


Now you can find this flash fiction work and others on my profile on Wattpad! Click here for my profile and go dive into a sea of Shards of Imagination!

Shards of Imagination Cover Final

A Desire to Write

Attention! Attention my lovely followers! I have an announcement to make.

*Holds up hands for silence, clears throat*

I am proud to announce that I have kicked the ball back down the hill and am plunging back into writing full speed ahead as I pick up momentum with each passing second.

*Cheers and throws confetti*

(I’ve had sugar today, can you tell?)

You know what’s funny about us authors?

Sometimes it only takes one reader to speak up, or one tiny occurrence as small as a follow, or a like, to bring back your drive to write and create worlds at your fingertips. It’s truly amazing how just one person can lift your spirits so high that you’re left with a smile on your face for the whole day and your desire to create drives you further than you had gone in days or weeks.

I saw this on Facebook yesterday and I just had to share it to my author page, for it truly summed up how much that one comment can mean to any kind of artist, writer, or creative arts person. We are a strange breed of people plagued by our own doubts like a suffocating disease, though we possess the potential to turn caffeine into stories if only we are provided with the cure to our plague so that we may thrive.

viewer_artist

This time for me, it was a couple of occurrences that brought back my drive, and my cure finally.

For starters, anyone who saw my Snippet Sunday post this week has probably noticed that I started sharing from something brand spanking new: Clockwork Heart. If you’ve followed along my posts for the past month, you’ve probably seen that title a lot. That title also held a lot of ups and downs for me in that month. At first it was going great, then it got halted by some disappointing news, then I just kinda fell off the wagon in working on it thanks to said disappointment.

Well, the bloggers of the Snippet Sunday group who visited my post this past Sunday have had good reviews for the start of the story. Some of which are people who almost never comment on my posts, so that alone was a welcome surprise. To see their positive comments was an added bonus of excitement, building my desire further to write again.

The second thing that helped bring that drive back was the fact I actually got some good fresh air and sun yesterday. The weather was beautiful, it was warmer, the sun was shining. I got lucky enough that I was off work and I took that chance. I took a walk and shot my first air soft gun — because I have always wanted to try. Just getting the fresh air for about two hours helped to clear my head and lift my spirits.

The final thing surging my drive on is Wattpad. For a long time now I haven’t been promoting my stories to the SYS (Share Your Story) threads within the club forums. Part of that is because you have to promote every single week after the threads are refreshed by a Wattpad ambassador, and the threads are never refreshed on the same days across each genre club. The other part to me not doing it for a long time is due to the fact I’ve been wanting to rework some of them. Rivers of Black being one of those stories. I think The Black Lake could use a bit of work too — I’ve begun that by asking for a new cover to the story. The original was done by me and it…could be a lot better.

So the other day as I was working on the drafts to revamp my blog, I decided I was going to promote a few of my stories to the SYS threads, just because I haven’t done it in so long and I have not been seeing the viewing numbers move in ages.

Well, guess what happened?

Since I did that several days ago, I’ve seen two new follows, a few new views pop up in some of the numbers, and I’ve had at least three different viewers dropping me votes on my stories again. So, YAY!

I keep hoping one of those voters is going to leave me a wonderful comment but no such luck on that just yet. Darn.

You put all three of those occurrences together though and suddenly I’m itching to plant fingers to the keyboard again. Believe it or not, I actually opened Fated to Darkness again to start work back up on it! I haven’t touched it since NaNoWriMo, which is partly due to the Christmas/inventory season, and also partly due to when I began working on Clockwork Heart in January.

Yesterday that is what I did though after clearing my head from the walk. With the will to write I sat down and pulled out my computer. I debated which story I wanted to work on and then found myself opening Fated to Darkness. I had to read through some of it to remind myself where I was, and where I was heading, but…WOW! I read the chapter before the one I left off on because they go hand in hand, and this was my initial reaction that went to Facebook after reading it:

“-*Reads through semi-recent chapter of Fated to Darkness from NaNoWriMo*
-*Jaw drops*
-*Stares at Word doc for a good two minutes*
-Holy shit! I wrote that?!”

After that, I immediately dove into the chapter I was currently writing to keep going. It’s a good thing when you don’t want to pull your eyes away from the scene, right? It’s been two months since I read through or looked at any of it, and I was glued to my own screen. For when I got to the part I left off at, this was my next reaction to Facebook:

“You know you’re an author when you get to where you left off last and freak out at yourself because you left yourself hanging on a cliffhanger.Guess I better start writing!”

I quite literally went slack jawed and threw my hands up, yelling at myself for leaving off where I had. I spent the next several minutes internally freaking out and itching to write before I regained enough equilibrium and direction on the chapter to start writing again. By the time I stopped due to an irritable need for food, and a less irritable desire to watch Quantico, I had gotten in another 1.2k words.

The chapter isn’t done just yet, though it’s more than half way completed now, but I am certainly loving how it’s coming along. I just need to keep reminding myself of my MC’s age once in awhile. I keep mixing her young self with her future self on attitude and reaction. Although, her attitude doesn’t much change, but word choice and reactions do matter when comparing their ages.

It’s actually very hard to write a child and to stay in their mindset. It’s even harder when you have so little knowledge of how a kid that age should act, or what they should be capable of mentally and physically. Then when you throw in the fact her…genes give her a growth spurt in a faster maturity than a regular human and you really screw yourself on how she should appropriately act.

A good deal of the earlier parts of Fated to Darkness may need some tweaking to keep straight with her age, but that’s for edits. Actually, a lot of things are going to need tweaking when I get to edits. My writing style has really grown since I started this book. But that’s for a later date to worry about.

Right now I just have to remember I am six chapters away from completing the first draft, and goddammit I am going to finish that soon so I can work on Clockwork Heart. Somehow I seem to be talking myself into the fact I want to try to get that one published this year instead of completing two other novels I have started.

Why you ask? Because I’m an idiot who can’t focus on the goals she already set herself without more ideas popping up in the form of half started WiPs and raging plot bunnies.

Oh, wait, doesn’t every author have that problem?

I Belong Here (Snippet Sunday 2.5.17)

Welcome to Snippet Sunday on Darkling Dreams!

Where writers come together to share a few sentences (8-10) of their current project — whether it’s a recently released novel, a WIP (work in progress), or an older manuscript that’s being revived. Intended to hook readers, gather feedback and build an author’s fan base, Snippet Sunday is the FB group that does all three.

snippet sunday

January has come and gone and we’re onto February now. I’m quite upset the groundhog decided we needed six more weeks of winter, I’m ready for Spring. My writing goals and endeavors have royally been screwed up this year so far, but for this month I am going to be sharing from something I just started. I’m no longer sure what it’s going to turn into exactly (short story or novella), and I’m also no longer sure when I’m going to finish it, but it’s been fun to write so far so we’ll see. This month I’ve taken a new path in my snippets while I share from Clockwork Heart, a steampunk, fantasy, modern-cross story. It’s still a WiP and I only have the first chapter completed so please excuse an errors and suggestions are welcome.

This starts off the very beginning of Clockwork Heart. My apologies it’s a bit lengthy. If you want to see the final snippet from Fated to Darkness of last week, you can find it here.

~*~*~*~

“Lavinia?”

There was a faintly audible whirring noise of gears as she turned her head toward him. Baby blue eyes looked his tanned frame over, sprawled in leisure amongst the tall grass that waved like the rolling sea. At least, that was what he had told her it looked like sitting atop this hill when the wind blew. She had never seen the ocean though to understand the comparison.

“Yes, Eric?” Her light, automated voice vibrated through the air.

Tousled sandy hair rustled in the light breeze against his forehead as Eric rolled upright and propped himself sideways to look at her. “Have you ever wanted to travel the world? I mean beyond this realm. Beyond Clockwork and out into the real world, where I’m from.”

She blinked, staring into his warm chocolate eyes. “You know that is not possible for me. I belong here, and only here.”

“But have you ever thought about it? Answer me honestly, please.”

“No.” Her monotone voice sounded dull even to her own hearing mechanisms.

Eric’s lips twitched downwards. He pushed himself up to sit Indian style, scooting around to her side. At first he didn’t speak and she wondered if she had again done something wrong. She didn’t always understand their human ways. They were so different, so…complicated. These emotions they felt and their imaginations. They had hearts that beat in different rhythms instead of the constant grinding gears of a clockwork heart. They had ambitions and dreams, their natures varied so deeply. She feared she would never understand these strange creatures, even though one had befriended her.

Not to mention the way they moved and spoke. They could leak that strange red stuff like she could leak oil. She had seen water fall from their eyes and not damage any parts. They never whirred, clinked, or grinded with their movements. Octave upon octave of tone could fall from their lips as if they had many different programmed voice boxes instead of just one like her. She could only make a limited amount of facial expressions with her stretched and fitted flexible porcelain skin, but the array they could make was astounding.

They were so odd compared to her own kind. Then again, Eric must think her kind just as odd compared to his.

~*~*~*~

First opinions?


Due to the fact this is a new WiP, I do not have a cover or blurb yet, neither is it posted to Wattpad at this time. So there will be no “if you wish to read more…”

However! If you wish to read anything else that I have out for free, you can hop on over to  my profile on Wattpad and check out what I have to offer. Or if you wish to read my debut release, Embermyst, you can find out more about that in the tabs above. (I’m working on the tabs, bare with me.) I love to hear any and all feedback on my work as well. Comments are greatly appreciated, as are the reads. You can also find me on my Facebook author page to keep up to date with all that’s going on in my writing.

And if you’re looking for some other great snippets of fellow authors,
hop on over to Facebook and check out Snippet Sunday!

Confessions of a Writer

How do you put to words what you can’t even comprehend?

The answer is you don’t.

Sure, you can try your hardest to describe it, you can try your hardest to understand what you’re thinking and feeling, but the truth is it never does it justice in the end.

So…what do you do?

The answer is I don’t know.

For the past several days to a week now that has been my dilemma. I can’t seem to comprehend the emotions and thoughts whirling out of control and spiraling into so many different aspects.

Maybe it’s been the awful week I’ve had, or maybe it’s a whole lot more.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how long I spend thinking and trying to find the root, I’m not finding it. I don’t think I’m ever going to find it.

Maybe it’s irrational fear, or maybe it’s not irrational. Perhaps it’s hesitance, or even a panicked desperateness because it feels like time is running out. For all I know it’s insecurity, and uncertainty. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s all of the above.

Huh…

As a writer, have you ever had this great big project that is your heart and soul? A novel, a story, a series, a poem even, that’s your baby? The work you will forever cherish and love above all others?

I have one. Mine’s a series.

I’ve spent the last two and a half years, almost three, working on it. But I’m still only on Book 1 of the series, and I’m still writing. I’m not editing and re-editing yet. I’m not polishing and making it great. I’m still…writing.

I’ve come so far in it and I can see that light at the end of the tunnel that is the very last chapter of Book 1, and I can see the pulsing light that is the beginning of Book 2 just waiting for me to grab it.

But I’m not reaching either.

Pretty soon another year of my life is going to turn the clock of my age, and all I can think about is time is slipping away from me and I am getting nowhere fast, with hardly anything to show for these last four years of my life.

I hate that day. Every year I wish I could skip it. It doesn’t hold any good memories for me, so why bother celebrating and listening to a chorus of excited friends wishing you well on a day that only makes you bitter?

I’ve never liked that day, and I never will. This year it is filling me with more than just dread.

I’m a published author, and I have a confession to make.

With  another year on the calendar of age about to tick by, I am terrified the series that is my baby is never going to be completed. I am terrified that one day too soon, life is going to shred the wool over my eyes telling me “you’re still young, you have a lot of time”, and it is going to drop me to fall from the skies until I hit rock bottom.

Friends will be graduating college this year, starting their careers in something they love. They will be taking adventures and going places while I’m left in the dust to try to stumble after them as I have been doing for years now.

Where am I going? What am I even doing?

There is no direction that I can see. Take it one day at a time, they say. There’s no rush, they say.

But there is.

Because soon “one day at a time” will be too late to do anything else. One day there will be a rush because you just never know what tomorrow is going to hold, especially in this day and age.

So what do you do when you feel stuck, when you feel desperate?

I have another confession.

While I may have gotten a foot in the door of the publishing world, of my dream to be an author, I do not write nearly as much as an author should. I can hardly even call myself a writer anymore. If it wasn’t for the weekly flash fiction, or the group in which we write together for a short period of time each week, I would probably not write a word until NaNo starts up again.

It’s not because I don’t want to write. I do. It hurts and it is killing me inside that I’m not writing. Sure there might be a little hesitance over it since I need to read to pick up where I am, and sure some of my will to write may have been squashed by disappointment and a change of plans, but the want to write is still there.

Yet I’m not writing…

After almost three years I am desperate to finish this book. I am desperate to take that larger chance at getting published. I am tired of waiting, of putting it off, of everything in life getting in the way. Because now life is passing by without me.

I’ve been asked before if I’m happy, truly happy with my life. I can never answer that question, at least not out loud because I know the answer is one I never want to admit to anyone.

Now… Do you know what thought continues to cross my mind out of this desperate uncertainty?

That the only way I am ever going to finish this novel, to take that leap, or the only way I am going to start building a real career and life for myself, gaining freedom, is if I quit my job and spend my time doing what I want: writing, going back to school, trying to learn to drive.

Because trying to do it on top of working just isn’t happening anymore.

If I were to make it work while still working, I would have to become a recluse that does nothing, goes nowhere, and talks to nobody.

And I can’t get the thought out of my head now.

Yes, I am a published author, but I confess I am terrified I will never make it out of this lifeless cycle if I do not do something drastic to reach my dreams.

A Shadow’s Grip (Wednesday Words 2.1.17)

Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!

A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!

With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off a three word combination prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!

(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)

If you’ve never heard of Hoia Baciu Forest in Romania, I dare you to look it up after reading this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A Shadow’s Grip

Jezebel stopped in the center of the deadened, clear-cut circle of forest. The ground was cold under her bare feet, a chilling breeze ruffling her skirt and black hair. A full moon provided the only light to see by as she turned in a slow circle, dazed eyes fixated straight ahead for the moment.

Fingertips slid down her arm starting just below her shoulder, gently at first, then with pain as sharp nails dug into her flesh and marred it with scratch marks. Someone, or something, breathed on the back of her neck, sending ice water down her spine. Then it was gone.

She turned her head toward the lingering negative energy of a poltergeist’s presence, but saw nothing, just as she expected. It left goosebumps to rise along her arm, though she wasn’t afraid.

Strangle flashing white lights bobbed within the trees, zipping along and fading among twisted trunks. Some stayed in one place, floating around aimlessly; while others played hide-and-seek and catch me if you can. One could be gone the same moment another appeared as pulsing white orbs waist high and higher.

Discomfort began to creep over her in a suffocating cloak while she stared. Her ears began to buzz from an onslaught of dizziness that left her feeling lightheaded. She could have sworn she heard a disembodied laugh follow the sensation before the air whooshed from her lungs and frigid temperatures sunk into her bones.

Everything went black within her vision like a blindfolded falling over her eyes, and all thought ceased to exist. The last thing she felt was her legs move forward without subconscious command before memory eluded her.

-*-*-

A cold tingle began to bleed back into her body, grey spots popping in her vision. Jezebel blinked slowly. She could see eyes, and opened mouths poised in shrieks before her. Another long, drawn out blink. They were gone. Air rushed back to her lungs and it felt like a shadow unhitched itself from her own. Nausea rose like hot lava in the back of her throat, the taste of bile on her tongue.

Pure exhaustion made her sway on her feet as her energy bottomed out hard. The grey in her vision returned to normal and she looked around slowly. She wasn’t standing where she had been last she recalled. Now she was on the edge of the trees, on the opposite side of the clearing she had walked in on, and she was facing inward as if she had just come out of the trees instead of walking across the clearing.

Stinging flesh pulled her attention away from her new position and her gaze fell down to exposed skin. Red, jagged lines beaded with crimson blood disfigured more than one arm now. Pockmarked burns dotted her skin like a disease with unexplainable rashes outlining it. They reminded her of the land she stood in: perfect circles and disfigured rings resembling twisted trees.

Thunder rumbled overhead suddenly, followed by icy splashes of water. Looking upward she saw darkened clouds of a storm rolling over the moon. Judging by its position now, she had lost hours in which she remembered nothing other than a nails-down-a-chalkboard laugh and a dip in liquid nitrogen.

A twig snapped to her right, then a slinking shadow passed through her peripheral vision. She heard a ghastly shriek, followed by a choking sound echo around her, then felt a wave of cold energy like something had burst. Jezebel turned her head.

“Ghost?” she whispered, searching the growing darkness no longer penetrated by the moon’s eerie glow.

The shadow slithered through the other side of her vision and she turned her head again. Her eyes landed upon a darkened outline of a figure that oozed like black ink dropped in water. Blood red eyes were the only noticeable feature within its wispy, partially translucent mass as it took a step toward her.

“Ghost…” she whispered with infatuation, a hint of a smile gracing her cracked lips.

You returned. The deep, husky voice floated along a sudden gust of wind with prolonged efficiency.

Jezebel reached her hand toward the apparition. “Of course I did. I promised I would. I love you…”

She could have sworn she saw the inky darkness underneath those piercing eyes pull upward in a feral grin, could have sworn she saw the points of two sharp-pointed fangs glisten. Death’s fingers raked through her gut and down her spine. She didn’t move as the shadowy figure approached and stopped to float only inches from her. She shivered when the air around her turned to that of an industrial freezer. Despair clenched her heart, as did an overwhelming terror.

Still she didn’t move save for pulling her hand back when he neared.

Blood red eyes locked on her grey ones and suddenly all the fear and despair fell away. All that was left was an overwhelming need to satisfy her master. Her hand reached up for his shadowy face but an unseen force stopped her, forcing it back down to her side.

My pet… The voice purred along the wind with heavy possessiveness, resonating with misplaced pleasure in her bones. Your life is only mine.

Jezebel stood rigid from the force locking her in place. The shadowy figure closed the gap between them and planted what left like an overly large mouth on her lips, parting them for it. Her body temperature plummeted and her knees weakened until they knocked together. The gasp she uttered never left her throat while her eyes fluttered closed. She could feel herself withering away on the inside, numbness creeping along her limbs bit by bit until her vision began to waver. Her heart thudded then slowed until she could hardly tell it was beating at all. An uncomfortable sensation pulled up from her toes and left through her mouth, quaking her soul in the process.

Blackness crept into her senses faster now, then all sensation snapped and disappeared at the flick of a switch. The touch she felt on her lips pulled back and she just barely focused upon a clearer image of something demonic standing in front of her before her eyes closed and she collapsed.


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