A low, deep rumble. Rain and hail whip at the window, the wooden house groaning under the weight of the weather. The room is inky dark, I can barely make out the vague shape of my hand when I hold it before my dripping face. Fresh pain splinters up my arm as I move and continues to do so even after I cradle it again. Try as I might, I can't stop my body from shaking. A combination of the adrenaline and cold, I think, but it doesn’t really matter. I shuffle further into the room, preferring
Cynthia
By: CaliTea
Favorited: 3 months ago
