"Her cries begged for an acknowledgement, not a Savior. Someone to bear witness, to understand her circumstance. I am no Savior, but that little I can provide."
My wrist has a rhythm, a gentle but persistent pulse as the injured nerve endings cry out in unison. Terror fills the veins, the blood, the severed tissue. Layer by layer as the wispy fibers that allow your skin to be an ironclad wall begin to quiver. Trembling, the echo of stell gnashes and gnarls... Continue Reading →
"The original personality, Lauren, stopped aging at this age, and she hasn't really been seen or heard from since."