horrorharbour

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He could not call her violent. After all he'd seen here, he knew he couldn't forget that this place was once her last bastion of hope. She had shared it with others with a kind heart and a need to create. But it had eventually corrupted her. Now all that was left in the walls of 123 were the battered souls of those too foolish to leave when she was in a kind mood.

whiskey

He poured the whiskey slowly, a note in their conversation, a violin in her ear. She watched the glass fill for a moment before returning her eyes to his lips, staring in admiration at the slow curl of a smile. He was aware of her eyes.

writing since 2009 · 18 entries · 18 days shown up

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you wrote about violent
“He could not call her violent. After all he'd seen here, he knew he couldn't forget that this place was once her last bastion of hope. She had shared it with others with a kind heart and a need to cr…”

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heartheadeyesstoodfacetryingdreamstreeairlipssubstancetracknowmomentherselfbeach