Icy fingers gripped my arm in the darkness. The chilling air around me stood still, my blood starting to slow as I ball into a shell to keep warm. Fingers creep up my back then glide down my spine. This women that haunts me will not leave me. Always leaving behind the trace of her icy fingers on my now pale skin. This is my personal ice box, a(n) eternal winter.
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My One Horror
HorrorThis will be a collection of all of my short horror stories that I like to write ✨Currently in the process of editing stories
