Comments about Carniz Fatema
The Blackest Gift
It is a night of death, a song of darkness,
Wolves vent their howls,
The dark one wakens.
Evil shrouds her stalking form, an impatient agony.
Her black hair cascades over pale and tragic shoulders, and her full blood red lips part slightly, to taste the blood streaming from the pale flesh beneath her.
Now a night of darkness, I awaken from the mist, i can smell the blood and evil in the air like a thick perfume, and when she walks in, the air is sucked out of the room, her black hair c