He offered her power, money, status...a giant prison, all in exchange for only...her soul.
It's a finger snapping kind of day.
Writers do not have the privilege of sleep. There is always a story coming alive in their heads, constantly composing. Whether they choose it or not.
I want your most vital organ. I want it to be mine.
I can cast a spell on your behalf regarding a relationship, your financial situation, future events, or whatever is important to you. I have the power and I use the power. I can change the course of y...
When we are in love, we are convinced nobody else will do. But as time goes, others do do, and often do do, much much better.
Defend myself? I cannot defend the verbal repressions of a boy. A curmudgeonly, cantankerous, ill-tempered, counterfeit boy.
Maybe she had it wrong all this time and her empty heart could never be filled by his ingenious broken spirit. Maybe this yearning had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her.
He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.
Her heart had grown so familiar to the pain of life without him, that to respond now seemed too large a pleasure she could not endure. If pain was love, then she loved fiercely. Yet knew she could not...
She stabbed him with her wicked pretty knife, disrupted his simple life.She's a player, a heartbreaker,and now she breaks alone.