The Life of She Known as Seraphina_Briefly by the counter._Of Breath and Blood_Kill Bill
Catalog Guide:
The Life of She Known as Seraphina
To the community that made me, well, me, thank you. I would not be here without you.So, I guess the best place to start would be here. Fun fact about my life: there are these carpeted stairs in my house that go up to the second floor. One of those ones that turns in the middle with a wider step, one large enough to lay on. My mom says it's like my second bedroom. When I was little, small enough to squeeze onto the stair lengthwise, I would fall asleep there, basking in the ray of sunlight that peeks through the window. I’m too big now but I still relax there, lounging on a pile of pillows as ...
Briefly by the counter.
It was his legs that drew her attention. He seemed to have put on odd legs as he started the day. One was well calved, the other thinner and shapeless. His shorts – that came to his knees - made their appearance even odder. The one leg of the pants coming just below the knee, the other, cuff backed, fell mid-knee. His black socks, too, differed. Thewww.onedoor.cc one covering the ankle of the fatter leg was lower than the other; the other, pulled high, exaggerating the thinness of that limb. Her eyes travelled up his body. The football shirt was of the sort worn by so many men of a certain age who liked on...
Of Breath and Blood
Princess Hannah awakened in dim, cold light. Her head ached. Confined within rigid walls, she couldn’t move. Something smelled bad. Groping to consciousness, she sensed eyes upon her. Grotesque faces watched wherever she turned. But moving she realized they were reflections of herself. As bad as she felt, she hoped these hideous images were not true. ‘No princess could survive looking so wretched. Am I dead? If I look like that, this must be hell.’ Memories of last night’s palace ball came in fragments. The minstrel artfully played his lyre and made up songs. Eyes upon her, he sang, ‘Lovely ...
Kill Bill
I’m jarred awake by the sound of glass shattering; the backdoor window pane, to be specific. I remember the same noise from last month, when Dummy accidentally threw a football into the house. The chatter of shards bursting onto the kitchen floor was that of a busted dam; the pressure released itself in a violent rush of backdoor hail. He got it fixed quickly, of course, to prohibit me from going outside. So, I haven’t really forgiven him. “Shhhh!” Someone says, as if hushing works retrospectively. “What the hell, Rachel, I thought you said you had a key?” “I do,” Rachel says. “So, what? You ...