i know where you sleep

[Elvira Winters]

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i want to mix our blood and put it in the ground so you can never leave

Her throne would be carved from broken, bleeding hearts. Her crown would be jet-black, crafted from spindly, inky spider webs. She admired the bow, smiling, draining away the remnants of her crocodile tears. Such a prize was fitting for the wicked princess. Baubles and pretty things were enough to—at least, momentarily—elicit her good graces.

The bow was lovely against her pale complexion, one day to rest atop a head of flaxen curls once she was able. Certain things she cherished, and the gift was only one to add to a collection she hoarded like a wretched mockingbird.

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