Your source for good fiction.

Thirst.

  Sitting here by the light of a waxing moon, I tremble..

  The color in my face has long drained away and my blood runs as cold as the coming frost.  With one shaking hand I write. The scratching of the quill upon yellowed parchment doing little to drown out the  agonized screams that bellow into the dark. My mind races in a thousand frenzied circles, all within the space of a heart beat. 

  Why, my darling?

  For all the sorrow which now I bare, all the world boils down to just that one question. Oh how I have loved you.. And now that love merely fades into the dark of night like my quaking breaths.

  My darling.. My love. Where am I without you? My life, my heart was yours…

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