Whispers in the dark, smoke rising from a freshly snuffed candle, a pair of eyes glowing, watching all that happens around them.
A twisted hand slowly enters a dimly lit circle that the failing pale moon desperately tried to illuminate for the book of sorrow, The Journal. The same cackling laughter that haunted before rang out as the 'old' hands slowly opened the book again. Skin gray in death as it was stretched loosely around the bone of his hand and wrist. As the hands extended to write with a large black feathered quill and ink, Victorian style blue coat snuck out of the shadows, along with some lace from the, obviously, noble class.
A light glint in the dark from a gleaming tooth, the eyes narrowed as if he was snearing, smiling a horrible way as a drop of ink pliped on the page before he started drawing the first letter out, dragging the ink around in a beautiful manner.
"Shall I continue on my little stories of horror? Not all end horribly but none are truly happy endings. Beware, the cards are not as kind as they seem."
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Adara's, thoughts, stories and rambles.
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