He was the man who had a morbid facsination for blood.
"You promised." He whispered.
"You're mad. Insane, you're insane." I choke out with a shaky voice. He cursed under his breath and looked down at his blood covered hands.
The wind blew harshly, and that's when the atmosphere shifted, becoming thicker as his madness ignited within him.
"Soul mates aren't the ones that make you happy, no. Instead, they're the ones who make you feel the burning edges, the scars and stars, old pangs, captivation and beauty, strains and shadows and worry and strain, sweetness and madness and dream like surrender, they hurl you into the abyss and taste like hope."
Set in 1936.
Ends in 1946.
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Copy right 2016.