The whispers stopped when they saw me coming, the eerie silence echoed in the background as my footsteps got a little quieter with all eyes on me. “Someone died,” slips out while they all gasp in horror as though I am a ghost. However; in many ways I am, I am haunted by my sisters ghost and the horror on the face when the rope tightened around her neck. They claimed her heart was not pure, that the hand of dark magic twisted around it to pollute the blood pulsing through her veins. My sister was not a witch but I would stop at nothing to have their blood on my hands. I liked the colour red, so I let it pour down the streets of London.
Haunting of a dead one
August 25, 2012