PHOEBE
Phoebe had snarled and hissed the whole way to Remi's shop. She tugged at the hand holding her to no avail, desperate to get away. But soon enough they were in front of the door of the shop, and the woman Remi would see looked far from the prim little midwife he knew. Her hair was dirty, streaked with red and black, blood and blight dripping down her chin and cheeks, soaking the front of her dress. The whites of her eyes were blackened as well, almost blending in with her dark irises.
At the call for Isla though, she shrieked, tugging at Jata's hands with all the strength she had left. Somewhere in her mind she knew Isla could heal and that was the last thing she wanted. In her effort she slipped on the floor, falling forward and nearly slamming her face against it as she continued to try to scramble away from the door and further into the shop.
At the call for Isla though, she shrieked, tugging at Jata's hands with all the strength she had left. Somewhere in her mind she knew Isla could heal and that was the last thing she wanted. In her effort she slipped on the floor, falling forward and nearly slamming her face against it as she continued to try to scramble away from the door and further into the shop.
When dark creeps in and eats the light
Bury your fears on sorry night
For in the winter's darkest hours
Comes the feasting of the Vours
No one can see it, the life they stole
Your body's here but not your soul
