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
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Malachai, happy birthday to you~" Isabelle sang softly, allowing it to be slightly bearable. She wasn't exactly like me, she wasn't tonedeaf, even if I hated to admit it.
"Now, blow out the candles" she continued to smile while she stood before me. The shirt she had borrowed from our wardrobe, only just covered her curves while she held a small cake toward me. I was leaning back, enjoying the view before she bit her lip in worried anticipation, like she did when she would read.
"Don't you like it?" she asked, lightly jumping from one foot to the other.
No matter what, she made my heart skip a beat. And in the world, not the personal hell I dragged her to, I felt like it was only us. Her touch always left a lingering tickle of care and her eyes generated a warmth under my skin. She was perfect, and even if I wouldn't admit it outloud. I would definitely choose her over any girl.
"Yes Belle, thank you" I answered before she carefully placed herself on the couch beside me.
"Remember to make a wish" she reminded,
"Always... To day one thousand and ninety four" I announced, I then blew out the candles and the camera decided to lose it's battery.
