KENNEDY BRYANT FOUND THAT YVONNE NEEDED MANY THINGS. Perhaps something like professional help and less something like a knife. Yet there the oddly good-looking girl was. Posed on a dais of cushioned pillows, grinning like the devil with a knife in her hand.
kennedy ventured her best to conceal her fear but she was afraid that she was nothing short of an open book. She certainly had not signed up for a long night of knife wielding, demon summoning cheerleader. If she'd known that this was how she'd spend one of her impossibly rare nights out socializing then she would have double bolt locked herself in her room and threw away the key. But there was no going back now so she pulled her knees to her chest and prayed for nights end.
With one look at Kennedy's face Gola knew they were drowning in the same sinking boat. She was both delighted that she wasn't the only one drowning in dread and guilty. Guilty because this was her sleepover and her company not only felt uncomfortable but afraid as well. She felt like a god-awful host and an even worser friend.
With one last worried glance thrown kennedy's gola shuffled off to retrieve the last item on Yvonne's list, white chalk.
What Yvonne needed white chalk for you might ask? well only heaven knows. Or much more likely hell. Gola learned to not ask any questions at this point she was just doing what she was told, anxious for this whole thing be over and done. America hadn't asked questions either she just fetched a knife from the kitchen, a mission which everyone else pleading sanity refused.
"I know you're there." Gola whispered loud enough for him and only him to hear. "I can feel you. I am not afraid—but are you?"
A deep chuckle slip into her ear along with an exhale. An exhale that rendered her candle extinguished. Maybe she spoke to soon.
The dark prince saw through Elenora's antics, he always had. Without question the young beauty was brave. But she certainly wasn't fearless. She never failed to stand tall. but her legs never fail to tremble.
"Never." He growled, taking her hand.
It did not take a genius to know that taking the hand of an obscure phantom was not a good idea. Let alone an ominous wraith that had a passion for terrorizing her since she was a child. But could she ever push away from his pull?
That could be easily answered by any creature with or without a pulse. The real question was did she want to?
Gola recalled seeing him for the first time. Cream crust of paint rained down from her ceiling like snowflakes. Five year old Gola may not have known where babies came from but she did know where snow did not come from. She'd made the mistake of allowing her eyes to climb her faintly moonlit walls until they met the ceiling. Only to see an awfully elegant man strewn across with a sneer practically carved into his features.
He strongly resembled one of those handsome disney princes she'd seen on tv. More regal than any king. Confident and basking in beauty. Only this prince's design had been a little off.
He'd been sketched too dark, too deep. Those brilliant crimson eyes too angry.
It had taken a while for the screaming to start and after that it would seem they never ceased. Waya and dean grew used to being startled awake by young Gola's strident shrieks and Yona's harsh groans of irritation. Wrenched from the comforts of their warm bed to search underbeds, closets, inside her blankets and even the her own shadow for a mischievous monster with glowing red eyes.
