mephiles

My coração was thumping hard in my chest, my breath all I could hear in the darkness. The fear of the hunted lay down upon my shoulders, adrenaline the only thing keeping me from falling to my knees.

I was exhausted. The enemy was not far behind... I pushed myself faster, knowing it was hopeless. he would catch me.

If I weren't so preoccupied with my flee, I would have shuddered at the thouht of those venomous green, reptile-like eyes, the blood-red sclera accenting the image of fear.

My legs felt like lead, my arms were heavy, my breath coming in raggid gasps as I tried futiley to get away from...

I dragged my claw across my wrist, very lightly, as to not puncture the fragile cadastrar-se between living crystal and flesh.

I stared down at my weak spot, knowing I could very easily kill myself por cutting through the pele, peles and skin, slashing the veins, and bleed to death.

But... If that was my weak spot, why was I toying with it in a similar manner to what a cat does a rato before pouncing? And, mais impotantly, why did I get the urge to "pounce", por wich I meaned slashing myself?

Confusion swept through me as I sat crosslegged up a árvore as my best friend, Rebecca, furiously smashed a futebol ball against...