I stood there, watching, as she ran her fingers through the knots of my soul.

"We are the kids our parents warned us about." Teenage rebellion. Everyone goes through that stage, with similar to almost opposite outcomes. Teenagers are the most distraught of generations. The most raging for freedom and the most willing to fight for it. Serenity Carter plays with fire, and fire isn't as dangerous as she can get. Although portrayed as a modest, respectable young lady in the eyes of her religious parents, she is the Devil's assistant herself. Harry Styles owns the word trouble. With a criminal record, he is known as a nuisance to the town's people. Constantly being judged by his mistakes, he assumes it's better to be silent than to be a fool and explain himself when he clearly doesn't care. He is strong, brave, short tempered. Misunderstood and abrupt. Impulsive and easily annoyed. He might just be the last straw Serenity pulls before her mother finds out. Join Serenity on her wild, mischievous story as a young girl turns into a woman, along the way learning that love is a fragile thing that when broken is a heavy storm.

"And by the way, love," He said in a low voice, his lips ghosting over my ear. "My name is Harry. Not Harold." -//- Elliana thought her family moved away for her father's work. She thought her parents were happy. But what she didn't think was that she, without a reason, had moved into The Strand; the neighbourhood where registered sex offenders are sent to live. People at school seem to know who she is and where she lives before she even arrives. And her next door neighbour seems unable to stay away. ** WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS ACTS OF VIOLENCE, IMPLIED RAPE, EXTREME LANGUAGE, AND MATURE CONTENT. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. **

Art is a form of communication. Whether it is through music, through writing or through painting, every note you play, every word you write and every drop of paint you put on the canvas displays an emotion. For many, it is also a form of relief, a way to say everything you wish you'd say and a way to escape everything. Some paint on a daily basis, other paint on impulse. Annabelle Snow paints on impulse. To her, it is the way to paint. It shows what you truly feel, although sometimes it may reveal things you would rather forget. This is the story of a girl passionate about art, who had her fair share of misery and was left bitter by it.

"You were rather a poison to me than a medicine, but I wouldn't of had you any other way."

She was dressed to kill and he was to die for. © whiskeystyles

She was the anchor that kept him steady above the water. He was the anchor that made her sink. A story filled with ups and downs. An unsteady sea, really.

When I looked into his eyes, he looked anything but human, and the scariest part was I couldn't find it in me to care. "W-Who are you?" I asked, tilting my head up. He looked at me through narrowed eyes, his pink lips parted as his rough voice sent chills up my spine, "That's not the question you should be asking." "Then what is?" There was a long unsettling silence that had dawned over the two of us. "Not who but what...what am I?" ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 2014.

maybe he can help me touch.