She stared at Raven in a long second of shocked silence, before sagging to the floor.
_I love you,_ he said to her, although at that point he was certain she could no longer comprehend the words. ____ trade places with you in an instant, Mandy Valems_ you never deserved this_ why would anyone do something so terrible!?_ A cold chill froze his heart when he saw her empty eyes again.The fluorescent lights in the dim room sparked to life all of a sudden, brightness so sharp that it startled him. In a flash, sharp and sudden, quicker than a lightning strike, the bulbs flickered and exploded with a few jingling pops.
Mandy and Alecto: The Collected Smog City Book Series
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_I love you,_ he said to her, although at that point he was certain she could no longer comprehend the words. ____ trade places with you in an instant, Mandy Valems_ you never deserved this_ why would anyone do something so terrible!?_ A cold chill froze his heart when he saw her empty eyes again.The fluorescent lights in the dim room sparked to life all of a sudden, brightness so sharp that it startled him. In a flash, sharp and sudden, quicker than a lightning strike, the bulbs flickered and exploded with a few jingling pops.
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As Roran watched, the man's arms, neck, and chest shriveled, and his bones appeared in sharp relief-from the bowlike curve of his collarbones to the hollow saddle of his hips, where his stomach hung like an empty waterskin. His lips puckered and drew back farther than they were intended to over his yellow teeth, baring them in a grisly snarl, while his eyeballs deflated as if they were engorged ticks being squished empty of blood, and the surrounding flesh sank inward.
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Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
We're not in a fairytale story. This is not a movie. Scriptwriters don't write our fates. We do.