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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She sat lifelessly on the edge of the bed while I dried her hair. It still held the same length as it did when we first got into the prison world. She did refuse to cut it as the first few months went on. However, we soon realised that forever looking young meant, we forever looked as we did on May the tenth.
Later, as she sat between my legs -her hair free of all moisture- I carefully ran a brush through her tangles. Luckily, I never caught a knot but, everything felt like I was walking on eggshells. After week two of this, I found that Isabelle was just a doll I had the responsibility of taking care of. She looked like one at least.
Her skin was milky white from the lack of sun and she was no longer plump, not like how I imagined her when I watched Baywatch. In my mind, I would picture her in a bright red swimsuit, giving me CPR as I laid upon the sand. It was ridiculous and I had to blame my Belle for such thoughts. It would amuse me how her jealousy would spike even from a show. In response, she would tease until I couldn't help but take her.
She was no longer Isabelle Martin though.
Her laughter filled these halls once and somehow masked the blood. She was magical, without being a witch she would still be so.
