The Devil in I

124 25 28
                                    

Author's First Note: Since we are peaking to the 25th chapter, it will be the 25th chapter anniversary of the book. Moreover, don't kill me for naming the chapters more uncommonly enigmatic under the names of songs or anything that inspires me. I hope you like and enjoy the new chapter! :))

Special dedication to the lovelies:  southernauthorsociopathsisTrash_Bag_123k_aldxnx,HollyDixon_JunykoWalkerCeleste-MooreDeliverPoetrystallonesgirlNeahMyahElizabethisntedgy and DrawingHorrorstory!

Special dedication to the lovelies:  southernauthor, sociopathsis, Trash_Bag_123, k_aldxnx,HollyDixon_, JunykoWalker, Celeste-Moore, DeliverPoetry, stallonesgirl, NeahMyah, Elizabethisntedgy and DrawingHorrorstory!

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

🃏 Step inside, see the devil in I
Too many times, we've let it come to this
Step inside, see the devil in I
You'll realize I'm not your devil anymore 🃏

--- *** ---
--- Later that Day ---

Once the day became a viciously vulnerable victim of the nocturnal episode's twilight lull, the rotundly huge palish moon mounted the starless horizon in a jiffy. The monotonously wearisome symphony of the vehicle engines' rowdy hums coupled with the relentlessly honey-mouthedly mellifluous birdsongs and the people's chats foreshadowed the daylight's phenomenally poetic reminiscence in the limbo. Solely the uneven vehicles' acceleration in the nearby neighbourhood motorway droned humdrum and interpolating modicum of life in the lethally asleep of the nocturnal lull background.

The night was a sheer home. Home sweet home. The home of the opulence of exemplars that had any associations with the ebony, foreign darkness to sheathe conveniently their very essences or entities. The crickets' eloquently mellifluous songs. The inescapably huge, rotund palish moon. The darkest hours. Or rather the most enigmatic hours that aroused umpteen conundrums behind the night's true face and its aftermaths. The eventual and inexorably sinister, bloodthirsty demise, itself. The inevitably ferocious, fiercely vehement umpteen of demons and mystic shadows casted in the darkest outskirts of the sites to haunt down their own victims of the past, insecurities and the held grudges.

Even when Timothy unpacked sufficient quantity of his luggage that would be usable throughout the day, consequently the rest of the luggage remarkable paraphernalia remained inside the suitcase or somewhere spilled across your bedroom.

Hypodermic Transgression ✝Monsignor Timothy Howard x FEM! Reader✝Where stories live. Discover now