His hunger was a wildfire burning within his belly, its flames licking hungrily at his thoughts. The fire wasn’t doused by the sight of Coira MacDermott bathed pale in the moonlight, her rough woollen cloak pulled tight around her slender body against the autumn chill—rather, the flames were fanned to an inferno of desire.
Her gnarled knuckles ache with the pain of age and cold as she directs the brush this way and that across the upright canvas. Darkness is her comfort, her old friend, her nightly blanket. Darkness because eyes clouded by cataracts require no light by which to see.
It came in the night. A rage-filled howl shattered the peaceful air of the valley, screaming its promise of pain and death. Zihao’s eyes flew open. He pushed himself up from his futon and grasped the hilt of his sword. Fear clawed at his stomach; he fought against it, and won.
Ask a man to name a fearsome animal, and you’ll likely hear Great White Shark or Box Jellyfish, perhaps Funnel-web Spider or some variation of Bear…
Set against a backdrop of ominously grey sky, Neuschwanstein loomed over the the lonely forest. It presided, dominated, menaced and threatened. The synonyms tumbled through Clara’s mind as she stood staring agape at the eerie, fairytalesque castle—and if fairytalesque wasn’t a word before, it damn well was now!