Fantasy-Mystery
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Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks, a sixteen-year-old student, is under an ancient curse that threatens to hasten her journey to the deathbed if she does not decipher the creature that laid it upon her.
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On an easy-going autumnal Mond...
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Did the raiders have glowing eyes? Whether too directly aimed or indirect, Phoebi could not hold back the only question that neither of them knew how to shape it.
The old fella tilted to scratch his head—which Phoebi could have proudly done for him if he was unable to—and squinted at the floor. “I don't think so.”
“They were a little shorter than me and all were in the same color of masks.” That was the most he could recall.
Assessing by the fact that they were attired in clothes striking resemblance to those of the midnight prowler, there could be no better guess of the suspect’s previous target, but they had to confirm. Are you sure that their eyes were not glowing?
“They weren't.” He reassured by shaking his head.
That week were you sick? Or were your veins a little abnormal? Phoebi was a little too straight to the point, but nonetheless neither of them stopped her, they all waited for an answer. The answer.
“What do you mean by abnormal?”
You know when your veins turn black or something. If there was a third person reading that note it would absolutely sound like something that happened daily.
“No, I was perfectly healthy.” He slurped a sip of the newly made coffee from a mug in an attempt to keep his tone at bay.
The slurp cuddled Carmiabell's belly, happening to know that his case was not rhyming with hers while she had found herself on a book with his name and hers on the same page.
Maybe it was the part about death that connected them, but he was lucky to survive. Maybe she wasn't meant for that luck and her departure was set slow and virulent.
Were there any attempts to steal something? Or did you find anything out of the norm? Detective Damon chipped in with a face far too off Carmiabell's map of his faces and a handwriting way too good for someone less of a prince.
“No. The only thing out of order was my teeth,” the Derrick answered, sipping yet another lump.
And did you notice anyone watching you after that day?
“No, ever since that day, I have never seen or heard a shadow hovering around. It went just like the wind.”
Did they say something? Like can you identify any voice?
“No.” Derrick was cooperating but all his answers were doing nothing more than dipping them into more darkness.
Damon ran out of questions, and the sigh that he made proved that he was another detective with a hard shell to fracture. His hands, instinctively, went to the bridge of his nose soothing it with her index finger and thumb. That wasn't a good sign, was it?
“The interview is over now, so I can drink my coffee in peace.”
Can we look around? Zuina snatched the notebook from Damon's lap and swiftly sketched. She wasn't asking, obviously, she was just making sure that he knew what they were about to do.
