burn42

Smokey tendrils of hate creep over her pale skin casting thin shadows like snakes over her body. Her eyes are full of sorrow as they stare into the dark wood grain, those big brown eyes always looking so perfect, so open and strong seem to weaken as tiny wrinkles form around the bottom. Hair like thin vines twisting and waving like silken tendrils down her shoulders as she brushes them over her right ear. The silence in the air hangs like a delicate glass sculpture and no one dare break it.