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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Now
Three bottles of something alcoholic later. That's the time it took for me to be at Isabelle's side. While she slept I watched her. And as creepy as it sounds, it was oddly comforting.
Her cheek was squished against her upper arm and her night gown left little to the imagination as her soft snores exited her mouth. She was tiny in the huge sheets, and if I moved an inch closer, her nose was rubbing against my own.
The whole atmosphere had me at ease. Therefore, when a chunk of hair fell into her eyes, I took it upon myself to rise my hand slowly to brush it aside. Once my fingers were only inches from the chestnut strand, her blue orbs shot open with fear laced inside her oceans.
"Malcolm?" She questioned groggily, barely able to open her eyes when she looked up. Her voice was soft and delicate, almost like how she was before the prison world. Until I ruined her. Because of this, I took advantage of her confusion and lowered my lips to her own. With them only brushing against her's, a warmth erupts from under my skin and sends thrills to shoot across my body.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
But I don't answer. I just closed the space and moved my mouth slowly against hers. I had to get used to the foreign action. It used to be so familiar. However, when she finally pulled away, did her eyes go wide and her lips part in shock.
I didn't want to hear her say it.
So I rapidly stood and stormed out her room to only here the faint call of my name.
