lust
• noun: lust
1. very strong sexual desire.
"he knew that his lust for her had returned"
•verb: lust
a passionate desire for something.
She want haunted and hunted. Lost forever in a spiral of grief and sorrow.
(Previously known as the story Re...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sorry for the slow updates! I've been extremely busy working and other aspects in my life! This is an important chapter for Scarlett as she starts to embark on her own journey she is going through!
I'm also sorry that this is a short chapter. I'm on my phone and it sucks ass. If you have any questions or comments don't hesitate to ask.
Thank you to all who have been patient with me and are still reading. You guys are my inspiration. 😭❤️
-
The darkened eyes of the stranger stared back at me. It's cheeks sunken in to a bone sharp point. Chapped lips had dried up blood in various cracks. Scrawny needle like fingers took a damp rag to wipe away the caked plasma.
The cold water awakened my skin. Droplets of water gleamed in the reflection of the moonlight outside, a surge of recognition of the face staring back at me. I quickly darted my eyes away from my reflection, ashamed of the grotesque figure I had shriveled into.
A rapid knock on the door erupted my trance, a slight pause before a thick accented voice spoke up. "Miss. Lively, are you alright?"
My lips thinned, not being able to find the voice to speak. What I was about to do, I wasn't sure. Where my first steps were to lead me still unknown. I gripped the porcelain sink, the milky color almost blended in perfectly with my own flesh.
Another knocked tapped upon the wooden door, forcing a grunt of annoyance to slip out of my weak lungs. "I'm fine. Give me a moment." The feet on the other side stayed planted for a moment, Ada hesitated, procrastinating far longer then they should have.
It been two weeks since the news of Marc's murder had swept throughout London. The paper boy no longer voiced out his name, a memory of the man already has been forgotten except for those who resided in the house of 3120 North Baker Street.
It had been two weeks since I have left this house. Two weeks since I have said a word to the Frye twins of my whereabouts. Two weeks since I had last seen Jacob in that fight club. A long, gruesome two weeks that I have been plagued with the sight of Chad's cold decayed body.
His presence have become nearly overbearing. I can feel him, everywhere, constantly around me. Goosebumps raise all over my skin, the baby hairs on my neck stands straight up. My body shuts down, the normalcy of breathing halts; lungs air tight.
Day and night has merged into one terrorizing nightmare. The sound of a weeping widow's cry has became my lullaby.
I stared at the stranger one last time, tearing my eyes away from my image to a distinct set of eyes that drained all of the color from my already pale face. It's eyes glinted with an unknown purpose, a sadistic smile curved upon it's demonic features.
