Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
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Then
It was everywhere, splattered on the walls, smudged against the mahogany flooring. Every now and then, a hand print of blood reached around the corner, like a demon from a horror movie. However, it didn't plague us or haunt the forefronts of our minds.
Because this was our work.
The flooring was stained due to dragging his sister across the floor.
The hand print was Jo's as she searched for the twins.
The splatter on the walls was knocking out the other two, before hanging them from the bannister.
It was so colourful, Mal and I were covered in crimson. His clothes no longer clean, his white converse were stained with red. His face, it was still calming from bloodlust and rage. I knew not to anger him. He had little magic left, nothing to kill me. Therefore, I didn't speak. Even though I knew he desired me to do so.
He wouldn't hurt me. I didn't know if it was because I was a witch or his girlfriend. Either way, I was safe. He kept me in that little circle, he reserved it for only myself. He would keep me safe.
Because he's not an abomination.
I told him those words again and again. And I would forever.
He strode before me, my hand tightly encased in his but he refused to siphon. He was too fixed on finding civilisation. He wanted to prove we weren't alone in the never-ending day of May 10th 1994.
My heart was clawing at my chest, throbbing in my ears. The sobs rose like bile from my stomach. The tears were acidic while they brewed behind my eyes in a white heat.
I was happy to kill. If it was for Malachai. Everything I was, all of it was a facade. I placed a glass mask upon my face for the world to see. Now... He was that.
I was no longer the candy with the bitter centre. I was just me. Timid and passive in disposition. But, a closer look would reveal the blood on the tips of my fingers, sitting against the blue of my eyes.
We continued inside, until we reached the bathroom. His chest was rising and falling with laboured exhales, as was mine.
We had been searching for hours. Silently, praying in the depths of our minds to hear the little things, cars going by or that annoying dog that would bark outside my bedroom.
Mal would hate it when that happened. So tempted to throw it in my backyard pool if it brought attention to himself. Especially, while he was climbing up the drain pipe of my house.
We snuck around due to my age. Eighteen and twenty-two didn't mix well for my dad.
"Malachai is an adult, he should know better"
That's what he would say. But, we couldn't fit more perfectly.
