She pulled her hair back as she moved her hair back from her forehead, feeling the thing writhe within her body. She resisted, hands trembling as the blood pounded in her veins. She pressed her hands to the mirror before her, looking at the girl reflected back. She licked her lips, blinking back tears. Her eyes shown in the dim room, red irises like flames in her skull.
She was pale and thin, a white ghost of a girl in a dingy torn sheet. The pink tongue flicked out to taste the layer of silvery dust on the surface of the liquid surface. She turned from the mirror, feeling the thing laugh. She felt her mind shatter, felt herself give in. Her eyes were wild and searching in the old house, but she found nothing to sate her hunger.
The sheet whispered on the concrete floor, everything here was grey and shimmery. The beauty of dead entities filled her as her sanity slipped away like the ghost of a kiss. Her chest shuddered as she breathed deep of the stale air, the smell of mold and dust and decay filled her breast, the loving touch of death itself. She raked her nails up her arm, drawing poppies. She laughed, lapping the cold flesh. She tasted life, the coppery scent covered her in warmth. She smeared the flowers on her skin, feeling the pulse just out of reach.
Music bubbles from her breast, water flowing from a fountain. She raises her arms up to the decayed ceiling, twirling on the balls of her feet. The laughter rose in the thin air. She felt the thing writhing inside her body like worms crawling to the surface of black dirt. It seeped from her skin, leaving her shivering and hungry. She saw the silvery strings, a plump body dangling from the cord of life.
She scampers towards it, eager fingers clawing at the fine threads. She licks at the writhing body in her palm, drawing its life blood into herself. She stares at the ruined home, shards of livid essence drips from her fingers as she chews. She swallows, her throat is filled with cobwebs as the spider goes down. She crawls towards the mirror, beating it weakly with bloody hands until her arms are tired and filled with pins.
She feels her breast hitch, something claws at her throat. Her cry fills the empty house as the glass shatters in her head. She’s a lost soul in a grey purgatory. She’s the formerly possessed, of the ghosts, laughing as the sorrow pools around her like putrid water in a stale lake.
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