Her eyelashes are long. They press against the smooth lids and just brush the edge of her brow. Wide, they shimmer with unshed tears - her eyes, the ones that drive you crazier - and the fire that burnt in them is dead, dark, lifeless. Her lip doesn't tremble, her gaze stays steady as the first of those cursed drops of betrayal slide down her stress-riddled cheek. Though her face says nothing of what she feels inside, those damn tears always give her away. You aren't quite sure, but you think you caught her pink tongue flick out to taste the salty incarnation of her pain - and that seals it.
Suddenly, her chin whips up a minute degree. The sparks that danced imperceptibly under her skin blaze to life, whirling wildly in the inescapable prison of her pitifully mortal body. But you can see now, it's not a mortal soul. You can see it now, in her eyes. They roar to life faster than a pfenix birth. The deathly flare of her pain makes men cower - makes them regret every piece of scorn they inflicted on her, every word they whispered that made her feel worthless and weak. Her eyes are burning, smoldering, with more passion than those with foolish little hearts can withstand. Her deep brown eyes are emboldened with all her anger, all her hate, every cruelty, every injustice she has ever witnessed. She needs their blood more than she ever needed their love. When her lips part, gently, as if she were about to embrace a lover - with heart rushing and breath ragged - you know.
Thoughts of hatred, Twisted dreams.
When her colorless lips part, she screams.
Peaceless days, Nights of blood.
They fall.
