Wednesday, September 18, 2013
from the Journal, 9/14 and 9/18-
'This year has been messy, chaotic, and at times nearing disaster. And yet, I wouldn't change a moment of it. It feels full and well-spent. 2013 feels like the year I came back to life.
There are pages in this journal that are dark & cruel, twisted and wrong, like a mangled car wreck, warped beyond recognition. But they are mine, and I wouldn't trade them for a thing.
The air is getting colder, the nights shorter, and my friends fewer. Yet I've never felt more light and alive.'
from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter four-
Eve Spellmeyer sat down in the folding metal chair, lithe and poised. Detectives Brett and Young informed her that someone would be along to talk to her shortly.
"Can I know what this is about?"
Detective Brett looked at Detective Young, and closed the door behind them, the tumblers locking into place.
The girl in questioning pushed a long, slender hand through her cropped, dark hair, sections of it still frozen together. She resisted the urge to rub her eyes and make the contact lens irritation behind her shades any worse. Eve had no idea what to think or believe, but she knew one thing for certain, and that was her own innocence. If she appeared distressed right now, it would only serve to seal her fate in their eyes.
Eve took a deep breath, and made a show of removing her shades to glare at the mirror, squinting up at the obnoxious florescent light, and putting the tinted lenses back over her eyes before the pain behind her eyes settled into a full-on migraine.