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Matchstick

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The transparent skin barely concealing the trapped flesh within her cheek, just below her prominent cheekbone, was tinged yellow rather than pink.
Her parched, water deprived lips shattered when she spoke, crimson blood reaching out and touching the freckled skin like softly spreading ink.
Her dainty feet were patterned and checked with deep royal blue veins, a psychotic jigsaw of flesh, and her blue-black toes were beyond healing.
The grey fingernails on the tips of her fingers were slightly too long, as were her pale, numb fingers, drooping slightly with the weight of the loss of feeling.
Her ebony eyes darted sideways in their sunken sockets, two dancing fireflies basking in the moonlight, hindered slightly by lashes dark and thick.
Her delicate features exploded in colour as light fell on the ball of flame red hair scorching her skull and her skinny figure, like a matchstick.





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