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Human souls are worthless. If souls are the currency of hell, then the devil himself has become the victim of inflation.
“The Faire doesn’t eat people.” “Oh, yes.” He grinned at her, sadistic and cruel. His voice dropped to a low, husky sound that sent a shiver up her spine. “It does. It very much does.”
Come one, come all, to Harrow Faire, To greet your sweetest nightmare. Rejoin your dreams and memories, Of carnivals and reveries. Seek the truth in mirrored lanes, That show you all the hidden planes. Enjoy the sights, see what we’ve made, Let all life’s sorrows wilt and fade. For like all things, we’ll call away, To all the gloom and shaded gray. Join us now, my friends, be brave— Laugh now. Laugh long. Soon comes the grave.
I think I’m being haunted by a carnival. Fuck my life.
“Hey! Let me go!” “No.” He started pulling her down the path. “This is important.” “Stop. Right now. Stop it!” She kicked at his leg. “Don’t make me scream rape, you giant strawberry popsicle stick. Let me go!” He stopped and turned to face her. “I’m a what?”
Cora took another large swallow of her coffee. She hoped it wasn’t drugged. But the caffeine was worth the risk.
