chestnut curls caress your pale, underdeveloped features—masking you from a seemingly cruel, inconsiderate world. a woman, much too young to be burdened with motherhood, cradles you close without a sound. it has all gone terribly, undeniably wrong. you were not meant to arrive for several weeks, but here you lie in h e r arms, losing what little heat remained, and growing cold to the touch. time ceased in that moment. this was her obligation: to bear an heir worthy of the name. you did not possess this quality. you embraced death without trepidation—though there are those who would consider you fearless for making an ally with an unknown certainty so soon, but now was not the time. the blood in your veins belongs to that of warriors, and boiled with a certain fierceness. a battlefield is an opportunity to prove your worth, and to harness hidden potential and strength, but you chose to seek peace with an enemy that mortal men are unable to triumph—an act unsuited for brutes. kill or be killed—is that the saying? but all life eventually perishes. this does not mean you have to accept the fate you are given, and with patience and time, you will come to understand that circumstance can be bent and twisted—precisely molded for your insatiable hunger. you are nothing short of a warrior. you are one in your own right. this is only the beginning of your careful maneuvers. 

 the healer proclaims there is nothing more that can be done. her grip upon you is one of desperation and fear, and she refuses to accept this reality. betrothed to a hardened, detached soul. marriage came with a sacrifice to her voice and independence, but you were meant to breathe life back into her. you are the peace of mind she has been waiting on for what felt like an eternity. silent tears descend—sinking into your colorless cheeks. the moon is now arched in the sky, and white light cascades against her silhouette. she will keep her arms wrapped around you until she is told no more. her fingertips graze your forehead, gently pushing aside strands all too familiar to her. waiting a moment longer, she leans in hoping to catch a glimpse of life, just before pressing her lips against your forehead. 

the fingers on your own hands begin to move faintly. air finally fills your lungs, and loud wailing of discontentment penetrates your surroundings. you did not surrender your life. surely you were bargaining it away for something more.

Example 2:

—how do demons hide in plain sight?

the ground beneath your weight is shallow and frigid. the fabric of your clothing sinks into the crevasses and ridges along your form, and a sudden damp sensation overcomes you. your limbs sprawled and twisted in a way you do not recognize. are you hunched over on your knees? you cannot will yourself to move in any specific direction. nor can you open your eyes to check your surroundings—fear is not what is preventing you. an uncertain pressure insistently keeps them closed and frozen in place. you are not ready. you stretch your fingers out enough to feel around yourself. instead, your flesh is met with a sticky residue. the scent begins to invade your nostrils. it is not your own. your breathing grows in speed, and the air is now thick. you are not ready. this aroma smells of copper and sweat, but the heavy sinking in your chest indicates this occurred by your hands. the sound of your pulsating heart rings through your ears. your hands fall—palms press downwards to soak in the thick fluid. a rage inside you begins to grow without warning. your head instinctively jerks to the left as a thud resonates so very near you. your breathing begins to slow—almost coming to a halt as you listen. what is it that you desire most of all? wait—wait. there is no rush to find the answer. the weight of your head lifts, and you are permitted to open your eyes. seconds pass while you wait for your vision to stabilize. you are greeted with a corpse without any signs of life. the loss of blood makes it evident how this faceless individual went. a numbness first fills your chest and arms, and then it penetrates your skull—manifesting itself into a surge of adrenaline.

your jaw hangs low, and your lips eagerly part. you raise your right hand, and move it back and forth to match the light, watching the liquid traverse down your pale digits. your hand begins to inch closer, and there is no urge to fight it. warm fingertips touch your forehead, and slowly mold to the shape of your face as your hand moves down—leaving crimson trails. there is a sharp intake of air as you finally scrape your lips, and in that second, your body jolts upwards. your conscious enters back into the realm of reality. eyes swelling with panic quickly scan the dark room before your eyes adjust, and you realize you have returned to the realm of reality. you silently work to catch your muffled breath, and feel your cold forehead with nervous fingers.

             what is it that you desire most of all?