Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
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Then
I snuck downstairs to grab Isabelle's stupid recorder before turning it on. The image wasn't all that good, but enough so that I could film the event to come.
After filling a cup with ice cold water, I tiptoed upstairs. Isabelle looked so cute while she slept, however she eventually crinkled her nose and began snoring, causing me to shake away the thought.
It was a shame that I had to ruin it. With a flick of my wrist, Isabelle was soaked in water. Her body went into a small spasm before she shot up from the covers.
Her eyelashes were fused together and her hair hung in thick strips of damp chestnut.
"You little bastard!" She screamed before she scrambled up. I wasn't paying attention to the film. Instead, I felt as if I was running for my life as I sprinted through the halls and down the stairs.
Through my laboured breaths, I could hear our fatigued laughter slowly coming alive as she chased me down.
I could easily get used to this.
When I managed to hide round the corner of the house, I faced the camera in my direction.
"Day fourteen of our personal hell... This is gonna be fun".
