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“Just because your grandparents gave you the house doesn’t mean you have to actually live in it. It’s old and would do everyone in that city a favor if we tore it down.”
I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she wasn’t raised to be a prickly bitch.
Parsons Manor resides on a cliffside overlooking the Sound, with a mile long driveway stretching through a heavily wooded area. The congregation of trees separates this house from the rest of the world, making it feel as if you’re well and truly alone.
Hundreds of vines crawl up all sides of the structure, climbing towards the gargoyles stationed on the roof on either side of the manor.
Coupled with the looming storm in the background, Parsons Manor looks like a scene out of a horror film.
The clouds yawn, and rain spills from their mouths.
I love storms—I just don’t like to be in them. I’d prefer to cuddle up under the blankets with a mug of tea and a book while listening to the rainfall.
His eyes. One so dark and bottomless, it feels like staring into a well. And the other, an ice blue so light, it’s nearly white, reminding me of a husky’s eyes. A scar slashes straight down through the discolored eye, as if it didn’t already demand attention.
Parking is a bitch in Seattle, so I’m forced to park a few blocks away and walk there.
I’ve just found myself a little mouse, and I won’t stop until I’ve trapped her.
Why is it that being in public places and social settings makes me want to light myself on fire, but when someone breaks into my house, I feel brave enough to stay?
I kept the vines and cleaned the gargoyles, and though the stone is chipped and weathered, it only adds character to the haunting manor. Seems my taste isn’t any more rainbows and sunshine than my predecessors.
The fire is roaring, and the lights are dim, creating a cozy atmosphere. It’ll start raining soon, and I really hope she leaves by then so I can enjoy my night in with a book and the sound of thunder in peace.
I face the window again, the beginnings of the storm pattering against the glass. In a few minutes, it’ll be a downpour. Thunder rolls, building to a crescendo before a loud crack shakes the foundations of the house. It matches my mood perfectly.
But the same four walls that housed a horrific murder are the same four walls I sleep in at night. It’s chilling—a little creepy. But to Mom’s dismay, it’s not enough to get me to move out. Or even change rooms. If that makes me a freak, then I would only fit in with the family.
Terminate all the worker bees and leave the queen vulnerable and weak.
I'm an indie author, so I publish when I'm ready to. I hardly set deadlines for myself because the pressure suppresses my creativity. I can’t write when I’m too ridden with anxiety to get the book completed by a specific time.
As a reward for finishing my manuscript and sending it off to my editor, I’m treating myself to a nice murder investigation.
I sigh. “A master manipulator.” “Why?” I roll my eyes. “Because I manipulate people’s emotions with my words when they read my books,” I grouse.
Getting the chance to meet up with other author friends and attempting to run away with all their signed books while laughing maniacally is what truly brings me peace in life.
“Halloween is my entire life, Daya.
For as long as I can remember, Halloween fascinated me. The creatures and creepy faces. The jump scares and impending dread that something horrific is going to happen. I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with it all.
No one in their right mind likes being scared. But I do. I love it.
UNKNOWN: You haunt me. It’s only fair I return the sentiment.
Overcast skies constantly plague Seattle.
Fire and electricity spark from our connected lips, and it feels like planets colliding. Like the energy is astronomical, and with every brush and every lick, a new star is being born.
My girl doesn’t back down from a challenge.
He’s once again hidden in the shadows. When he walks through the room, it’s like the darkness clings to him. He is darkness.
“If you’re expecting me to say that we’re going to break up, you’re more delusional than you believe me to be. There will never be an end to me and you.
He’s absolutely breathtaking. And I’d like to blame the cold autumn air on the ice in my lungs, but I know better.
Zade is Hades, stepping out from the underworld and wreaking havoc on my quiet little life. The wicked scar cutting through his nearly-white eye, with his other nearly-black eye is a combination that could only be forged in Hell.
Just because the sun is pretty doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous to stare at, Addie.
I pretend they’re all avid readers, and the words I’m speaking are printing on blank sheets of paper for their greedy eyes to consume.
On several occasions throughout the hour, Zade wraps his arm around my waist and squeezes, his grip firm and reassuring. Those small touches are anchors, leveling my head and reminding me that I’m not alone.
Such a contradiction that something so dark shines so brightly beneath the light.
He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say fell to its own death alongside my defensive words.
the lies spilling from my mouth like the fantastical worlds from my fingers when I write.
“My mother. Her favorite flowers were roses. She always had them all over the house with the thorns clipped so I wouldn’t hurt myself. One year, I told her that I would be sad when she died because all the roses would die with her. So, she gave me a plastic rose and said that as long as I have that rose, she would never be truly gone.”
“Damn, you both woke up and chose violence today, huh?”
