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BLOOD COURSED THROUGH him like a rich nectar I wanted to lap up.
Oof good start
He moved through the jungle by himself, unbothered, perfectly confident in the way that only a man could be. Like he never had to worry about danger. Like he never had reason to be fearful for his life. Like the thought never even crossed his mind. It was the gift of his birth.
Fear is a woman’s burden. We are entrenched in it from the time we are born. Told to protect ourselves, especially our bodies. Heaven knows we’ve been told to value them more than our minds. We’ve been told to keep safe. Caution becomes our second nature from the time we are young girls, only blossoming deeper as we grow older. Our fathers, our neighbours, our villagers rally around to protect us, lest we, delicate little things, are unable to fend for ourselves. Be careful of strangers, they warned. Be careful of the jungle. Be careful even...
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
While I was all rotten flesh, cruel gashes and gaping wounds covering my body, he would see only beauty. A woman in white, smiling shyly at him under the moonlight, her black hair floating like silk about her shoulders.
I already love this
Blood was delicious, of course, but the look of dread in a man who was unspoiled by the horrors of the world was what led me to the jungle in the first place. It was what kept me here.
THE DEMON-DRUMS STARTED and the little girl’s face contorted like a blood-soaked rag being twisted dry. Her tongue hung out, purple and almost to her chest, a dribble of spit leaving a dark, wet mark on the loose nightdress she wore. The thick smoke from the perfumed incense made everything look like it was enveloped inside a dark cloud.
I love her writing. This is so good.
That was when I saw the woman. This was no demoness. She beckoned to me, breathtakingly beautiful, wearing a flowing white dress. Her hair was loose and floated around her in the breeze, the fireflies that danced around her head giving her a halo of her own. She smelled of fresh rain and the tuberose that bloomed at night. The jungle wasn’t a hunting ground tonight. I had nothing to fear.
No, my father was a good man. But what did good men have to hide?
