Horror Stories
"I suddenly discovered the delight of rebellion." – Jack Kerouac
It was cold and dark, and the forest was just a bit eerie.
But she didn't care.
How could she, when he was so close?
His rough fingers reached out to caress her cheek gently and brush her mousy brown curls from her eyes. His amber eyes glowed in the dark, watching her perplexed and with a slight fear in their depths. His body trembled slightly in his heavy robes as they stood under the moonlight.
Tomorrow it would be full.
She shouldn't be with him. He was dangerous even then, in that very moment.
But she was with him and she couldn't bear to leave.
As if she was not controlling her own actions but merely watching herself, she raised her hand and captured his in her own. Letting their hands fall beside them, she stepped up to him and gently rubbed noses with him. He reached his other hand out to her and pulled her up against him.
Pain was in his eyes.
And desire.
And love.
"Didn't your parents tell you disgusting things about people like me, Nymphadora?"
"Yes," she replied, face so close to him. "… but obviously not enough…"
His kiss was rough, savage, brutal. But she didn't care. His hands gripping, bruising. But she didn't care. She could see the beast lurking behind his eyes. But she didn't care.
How could she…?
When she lived for stolen moments…?
And horror stories…?