Glamour [Book 1] (Completed)

Chapter 1 | Evil Bound

Samantha  L.

G L A M O U R

Book  One

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Dear All Who Wander,
Once you've read these pages, the things that are here to be shared, there is absolutely no turning back. No crying. No toleration for whining. You will become a morphed version of who you once used to be. This is a warning and a welcome. If you invite change, change is what you will be served. So, if you are brave enough to venture into the real reality of the world, the future of mankind, I suggest we begin now...

Yours truly,
Eris S. Meyer

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        C R I M S O N   B L O O D pulsed outward from his brow, glowing against the ashen skin and dampened abrasion. His tongue muttered a spew of incoherent words, wanting nothing more than to wish his beloved farewell through his already blood-matted lips and fresh iron scent. His head fell limp and his eyes rolled back; an endless sleep enfolded over his body and, it became apparent then, that he would forever be deserted to disintegrate toward the draft of death.

My heart jumps feverishly.

Through the adrenaline and the loss of my all-time favorite character; my fingers struggle to close the two book flaps. My natural nails dig into the leather surface of the book until the lock that withheld my smile let my lips break free from their limiting constraints. The corners of my lips broaden outward, pulled upwards by the fulfillment of a perfectly crafted book, and even fuller as an afternoon yawn escapes the small gaps between my top and bottom teeth.

My mother, the very persona of grace and integrity, drags her gaze upward from the old cookbook so she can examine my facial expressions; her eyes detached and her voice contracting to an uninteresting petty drawl. "I got you that one yesterday. You're already finished?"

I nod, not able to react to her question properly, and then break eye-contact to read the last sentence from my own book once more. When I finish, the large book is set with its two faces down on the wooden island counter before me.

My mother huffs from her spot from where I sit, clearing her throat over-dramatically and brushing a dark strand of straightened hair from her fluorescent green eyes: "I'll take you to the library and get you another book tomorrow. Consider it an early birthday gift."

My forearms finally managed to close the flaps and I stare intently at the auburn leathered cover with the title carved into it's skin. And, like a child, I kiss the front of it and hop down from the red-cushioned bar stool, trying to shake the blood back to my butt. "Thanks mom." I state, but my mother was paying no mind to me: rather entranced by her cookbook.