Pretty girl. Supple cheeks strike, heat gathering deep and flourishing, peaking through sweet freckles. How her stomach reacts, a tumultuous sea that cannot be calmed. Those fingers never halt, running back and forth along the spine of her textbook, a little mannerism. It’s the +
themselves. “And the killer is religious.” Softly spoken, completely delicate. “I haven’t sinned, I believe. I’m safe.” Perhaps one of the few safe in this town. Pretty girls go missing. That isn’t a lie. Some have. But younger than she. Tiffany moves and is stalked by +
offers with a warm smile, dripping with innocence of a daughter hidden from the modern misdeeds. Svelte fingers trace down the inner spine of the book, bashful pupils finally ascending to her new company. There’s a falter, a bounce of her throat. “It’s nice out.”
Given her Father’s occupation and the locations she often frequents, Sadie is surprisingly stoic. Uneasy to frighten. Even within this town, one suffering from a widespread outbreak of sin or so the Preacher preaches. “It’s not that late.” She +
Soothing is the lazed lapping of water, the night calm and lacking that uneasy anticipation that Waterbury often elicits. Moonlight offers enough light, setting the surrounding landscape in a sweet glow. Sadie—Mae sits crosslegged on a bench, +
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Which is the true nightmare,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the horrific dream that you’ve
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀in your sleep or the * resentful
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀reality that awaits you when
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you awake?
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I’ve watched her in her room,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ followed her everywhere. I’ve
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ waited years for this, for her,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and I am not goin’ to pass up
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ the opportunity.
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