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Blood. It descended slowly, forming droplets on the cold ground. Looking with just a glaze, no slight movement was made. The frigid air struck his body continuously tussling his clothes. Bushes and trees, snapping. The night sky ever so prominent, showcasing its beauty behind ominous clouds. Hours? Minutes? He did not know, once he began to regain what was left of him, he brought his hands up towards his face, he instilled his gaze upon them. Covered and soaked they were, no inch nor centimeter was left of clear skin. Blood. It casted off glimpses of light from the moon up above. His breath hitched in his throat and with that he lets out a shrilling shriek, falling to his knees and bringing his hands up to cover his ears, he wails.

UNSTEADY Où les histoires vivent. Découvrez maintenant