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She held a ghostly hand, with an equally faint smile on her lips. If she squeezed hard enough, her hand would go straight through the buzzing spirit’s - but she didn’t want that, not at all. She wanted to warm cold hands long past feeling, she wanted to flirt with death itself. And for the past three months, she had.

He was the sinner’s nightmare, he was the caretaker of strays in the alleyway, he was the homeless man in the corner, playing the violin so beautifully you felt as if you could cry. Hs eyes were made of fire and pain, sprinkled with cinnamon and fury. You could look in them for years, and he would let you. As long as you made a deal for it.

She was insane. Off her rocker. Got all them bats in the belfry. Poor darlin’ don’t know any better but to scream like that, don’t know any better than to make all them warnings and not brushin’ that there hair. No one noticed that she had tears streaming down her face. No one noticed she washed the clothes of the dead, that she wrung them free of blood. No one but me.

Will o’ the wisp.
He was made of temptation. With sparkling eyes promising adventure and happiness, he would hold out his hand. Someone would always take it. They would follow his glowing smile, enchanted by the bobbing spring in his step and encouraging words. They would follow ‘til the end of the world. And gladly leap off it if he commanded it.

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