Their skin is a sick shade of ivory, and their bodies so thin that you just know they can bend muscles that you don’t have. Skin to blame, their lips are permanently violet. Nails, too. Not eyes; those are pearly white.
They bleed blue, she once said…
… I now agree.
Category: fiftywordstory
FiftyWordStory #2
The dim light from above fell on his face in a way that bronzed and honeyed his already warm, glowing skin. I wanted to reach across the table and touch it, just to see if it was as scalding hot as it looked, but what if it was?
FiftyWordStory #1
In old lore, necromancy is the craft of raising the dead. I don’t wander cemeteries in the dead of night, raising corpses from their graves, but you may call me a necromancer of modern times; death draws me in. It’s why I, like now, often find myself in, let’s say, dire straits?
A.R.Frederiksen 