I write small chapters, don't complain about it. Keeps you on your toes, ya see hahaha.
Relaxed and almost serene, Michael Myers was sleeping. Minka thanked God that he couldn't see her as she moved closer, little by little drinking in his appearance.
The dim, yellow light created the deepest shadows underneath his lashes and cheeks, outlining his strong jaw. His skin was pale from the complete lack of sun and unblemished, quite like a baby's. The shadow of a stubble was sprinkled on his chin and reached to his slight sideburns and unruly hair.
She had never seen hair so dark. With a slight curl, it covered his pillow and fell upon his forehead, and reached his broad shoulders. A thin, coarse blanket was tucked beneath his arms, making his large, powerful hands very noticeable as they sat relaxed by his legs. Ugly leather straps crisscrossed his chest and lower body, and Minka let out a gasp when she saw just how many locks hung from the sides of the cot. He was, in every sense of the word, extraordinary looking. An aura of danger and violence seemed to radiate from him, even as he slept.
She wondered if he truly was sleeping.
Silently, she approached the side of the bed.
"M-Michael?"
Silence was her answer, as she had hoped. Letting her tense shoulders relax, Minka eyed his left hand. That hand, she knew, could wrap around the whole of her throat and crush it completely, if it weren't strapped down.
Before Minka could stop herself or comprehend her actions, her dainty fingers reached out and lightly rested on the back of his hand. She trembled; he was cold.
Yes, he was cold and he was looking at her. Before she had even lifted her wide eyes to his, she felt his gaze heat her cheeks.
