I ran my hands through her tangled tresses, the moonlight bathing the locks in its bright glory. Her ebony skin was cold and smooth, her velvet cheeks in my tender grip. Her long lashes were laid out on her skin, innocence evident in her cherry lips.

But what I longed to see were the green specks in those eyes, the warming gaze that calmed my soul. Just one glimpse was all I wanted, all I needed.

I waited, waited for her eyes to open, for the sparkling orbs to capture me with their lustre. Waited for her raspy laughter to fill my sinning ears. Waited for her tiny hands to grip my calloused skin. Waited until they gripped my shoulders and led me through the worn-out door.

I sat on the edge of the rocking chair, the voices around me fading. Her pale face was etched in my brain. Her words became the only sound I heard.

Her last words.

The last words she uttered, the last words I ever heard. They remained in my mind, every whisper resurfacing, haunting me.

I had tried, tried to hear her voice again. I screamed at her to speak to me, begged her to say a word. I had repeated to her the story, our story, and waited for her to laugh the laugh she always did when I told her a tale.




She lay still on her bed, her green eyes shielded from the gruesome world forever.