For as long as Remus can remember he's had a hard life. Constant monthly mutilations of his skin, a absent father, and the trepidation of his blush inducing crush on Anastasia Fox. Anastasia Fox, who flirts with everyone, has matching fainter scars...
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CHAPTER 22 (part three) "My Special Girl."
"She's so beautiful, blinding." Hope smirked at her son, while making a second cup of tea, as Remus started rocking on his heals, the moment Ana had left down the hall.
Remus shot his head to his mother whiply whispering. "I know shhh."
Lyall looked up from checking on the roast in the oven in a confused tone. "You two really aren't going out?"
"Noo." Remus said, as if it was the most obvious thing.
"I think she likes you." Hope reached up slightly of her heals to tassel her son's hair.
Remus pulled away embarrassed, shushing his mother again, all while piercing his lips to keep in a quant smile, a smile that fell when a echoing close to painful scream rang.
-
A rich mahogany wardrobe with frosted over mirrors on each built door. The wood was warped into thick curves and thin lines of wood over the cloudy glass. It sat ominous in the room. Nothing close enough to touch it.
Even the parisian rug was off centered on the floor as if shy of the unwieldy object.
Ana played no mind to the fixtures hiding away from the wardrobe. Her fingers took both of the rusty silver handles, opening the doors
met with darkness- for a moment- darkness that was unmatchable to a dim room, or to an unlit field at night. Darkness known not even to a cloudy vesper sky with no stars.
Ana blinked as if blind. It was empty, not unfilled, but complete absence of space. A black hole leading to nothing.
Then as if conjured, the darkness became but a mere habitat for an inhabitant, and the tenant had materialized from the void.
Brawny grey hand? Paws? Gripped onto each side of the door by pulling the polished wood like a tight rope about to snap, splinters and strings of wood pulled up.
The furry hands covered half the size of the doors, bigger than a stout bear's.
Heavy panting could be heard that turned into a mad growling. The claws clung deeper into the wood as if using all its might to pull out of that absence of all.
Ana stepped back, her white flats catching on the shy rug. She became feverishly conscious.
How the bones in her legs touched the skin that touched her cotton wool socks that instantly felt too loose around her now cold ankles. How hollow her ears were. The hair on her scalp, the sinkening of her chest.
-
Everyone has things they saw, and it never felt a slip in the mind. A memory that could stay immortaly polished.
Whether it be the way an actor moved in a bad movie, or the face of your grandmother when you hooked her fingers with a fishing rod, or the way your older sister cut your hair when you were ten.
