I lean against the entryway, biting my tongue as I catch a peek at the faded tattoo across the front of her ankle. Nevermore. The perfect wicked concoction of macabre and beautiful. It’s easy to stand out amongst the world of the living, but Lyra, sweet Scarlett, she is life that spins through graveyards. A face that echoes across the dead. Beauty so divine death can’t bring himself to touch her.
