The pearly whites disappeared suddenly and she could see only vague, deformed shapes. "We missed you," came the distorted voice stolen from her own throat and eaten. She closed her eyes, nausea rising beneath the ache under her collarbone. "This isn't real," she reminded herself with little confidence. Hands bushed over her arms, sharp claws nicking the skin as the creatures closed in all around her. "It's all in your head," her voice shook while she forced her legs to move forward. "They aren't real."
There's something wrong with this picture and the problem stares at me with scared, grey blue eyes in the mirror. A ghost who stole my face.
Her knees buckled, giving way beneath her as she collapsed to the ground with wide eyes. This thing closing in on her had heard, answered, and denied her thoughts. Yet, the most striking part was that ‘it’ was a man’s voice; a low bass that rumbled from deep within his chest.
Her voice is dead with a cold bite that reaches high up into her smoky blue eyes. At her sides her fingers curl up to slip into the folds of her palm because she’s trying not to let them shake. Constant fear stains her blood stream but like hell would she ever allow him to know.