*A huge thank you to my good friend and editor, CeCelyx! Go check out her profile, she writes great stories!*
Also, I feel like the song above really links nicely with this story and especially with Eve.
There are a couple signs that make it easy to tell the dead apart from the living.
Firstly, the dead don't breathe, ever. I guess that's because they no longer have the need to, with them being dead and all.
Secondly, the dead never blink. To be quite honest it is quite unnerving being at the receiving end of their unwavering stare. Now this doesn't mean that they aren't able to close their eyes, it just means that they often forget that they need to blink in order to blend in properly with the living.
Thirdly, the dead are not affected by the environment. Quite a dead giveaway really, pardon the pun, to see a person bone dry amidst a torrential downpour.
Lastly, the dead have a perpetuating odour of rotting flesh. Oh and don't forget the skin that is always cold to the touch. But by the time you notice this, it is usually too late.
The man in front of me would be classified as the perfect example of his species. Not to mention that he was foaming at the mouth and fifty shades of pissed off.
I mean, I don't blame him, I would be pissed off too if someone just hacked off my hand.
"Sorry, " I said sarcastically. "I guess my aim is a bit off today, my bad."
Well if there was a way to piss Mr. Handsy off even further, that was the way to do it. I chuckled, watching him charge towards me in a blind rage.
Quickly, I unsheathed my twin scythes, ready to put this poor bastard out of his misery.
Spinning out of his way, I threw my scythe, hitting him in the back.
"Oh dear," I thought, watching the poor sod turning in a slow circle in an attempt to remove my blade from his back. Mr. Handsy was clearly not the brightest candle on the cake.
Sighing, I let my remaining scythe fly, successfully hitting its target with a thunk and putting him out of his misery.
I blinked and when I looked again he was gone, leaving behind only an oily residue and my precious twin scythes.
YOU ARE READING
Mortuus Ortus
FantasyEve is not normal. She can see things, or more specifically, dead things. It's her job to kill those things. Too bad that they want to kill her. Something is happening. The dead are planning something and Eve must find out what it is before all...
