In the frosty velvet night air, my feet treaded under the destiny that had consumed me. White Wing Road would be my end, but it was also the start to all of this. I could remember Tessa and me, all those years before; and the horrible ink blot of deafening red that stained this very road. I could feel my stomach lurch as I watched her dashing in my memory... the screech of raw tires, the sickening crack that left me breathless. I remember all the nights, me with only the scattered clutter on my floor; as well as the scortching sobs that sliced across my ribcage. So long after, I still thirst for the blood of pens; the texture of their souls captive between my fingertips, even though all I can see is the one ink blot I wish to forget. Out in the night, an owl turns its head to me; eyes teriffyingly beautiful. So human that I had to look away.