The pale woman stroked the villains face, fingers tracing each fine line before falling into the deep swath carved into his eye.
The villain leans into her touch, ignoring the scowling hero standing in the corner. "It's me, mother. It's Peter..." he whispers softly, holding her hand, "Do you remember me?"
The faintest of smiles flits across her face, there for an instant, a spark, then gone. But it was there, she is not lost yet.
The hero scowls even more.
"Of course..." he spits bitterly,
"Of course she remembers you."
YOU ARE READING
Flickers
Ngẫu nhiênA bundle of blurbs. (from my pinterest comments) Vote for which to expand into full stories! Each of these bits and bobs, odds, and ends was inspired by a pin of a prompt, poem, or picture, so without the pin might make no sense 🥲 But I'm working...
