Charcoal tinged with crimson wept down the hilt of the blade onto the handle as she withdrew it from his chest. This was a quick one, obviously a fresh creation not meant to lead but more so to mindlessly follow.
By heather messer4 years ago in Fiction
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Yet, after 20 years of breathing the coal tinged air of our village, I was one of few who had actual seen one with their own two eyes.
