The red rose that blossomed in the night, its petals reflecting its beauty provided by the dim light. The red lips that puckered when sought out. For not what the red stick brought, enticing its thirst for blood. From the side, drained the life of the other.
A sharp thorn. A sharp tooth. No. A sharp mind.
Deadly was she, to match the rose blossoming in the night. Beautiful, dangerous, and covered in red.
YOU ARE READING
The Smile on my Finger
Short StoryThe world is large and confusing. Sometimes I receive thoughts and just want to place it down. Here are those thoughts.
