Eight 'O' Clock
READING AGE 16+
The clock struck eight. He and I cuddled around each other's comfort, without a word, without a gesture; keenly letting the other know this silence was peaceful and lovely enough.
In spite of all the deaths that had taken place, the bloodshed, the fear, and the hiding; he had held onto me like I was his teddy bear, that he cherished the most.
Neither I knew who he was, nor others.
Except he knew all about me.
And the deaths at eight o clock.
Unfold
"Because I love you, and will always"
A writer is never a single specimen of the result of her words or plot. It is the simple combination of her book and the characters and the readers.
You enlighten the story, make it successful and turn it into the newest of them all. It becomes a life, of my fic……
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