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She was going to murder him, she was going to grab that charming beard of his and drag him down in to a dark pit of darkness. Whilst, she would relax in the blistering France heat; and he would be suffering hell. If the reader wishes to know the victims of her murderous thoughts; it was Aramis. If the reader wishes to know why...well, perhaps the fact she was running from raging bandits may selflessly give a hint. Why, oh why could not he stop from insulting them with witty remarks? Weren't the sharpened knives a clue to button it? Apparently not. Now, she was lithely dashing through an abandoned building littered with broken furniture, trying to no be pulled down by her long dress. His melodious laughter could be heard behind her as he ran with glee. Well, I am certainly glad someone is having fun. If her survival overpowering premonition was not so fierce, she would have smacked him there and then. Alas, the punishment was postponed; not that he would not have an affinity for the violence. He was a strange man that way. Constance screamed as her hands flew forward to quickly cease herself from falling to her death. Below her was the ground below, with no support to recue safely. Aramis yelped as she suddenly, halted, his harms wrapped around the base of her waist to steady the two. His laughter was cut short, as his eyes suspiciously watched the ground with stricken unease. "Okay, idiot. You provoked them, save the day." She whirled round; her white-robed dress was pressed against his in heated breathlessness. The two were panting, their faces rouge from either exhaustion or blushing at their closeness. Her own hands pressed against the dip of his muscular back to support herself. A ferocity overwhelmed the two. Aramis pus... ... middle of paper ... ...you tracing her lip?" Porthos asked with a wink. He watched Aramis splutter with awkwardness, a rouge spread across his cheeks - ooh, this was interesting! The romantic with the usual poetry was too much horrified to speak! "I was - uh - checking her lip for blood..." He shuffled on his feet, wringing his hands together with an embarrassed smile. What a terrible eloquent fraud. Porthos scrunched his face in disappointment, that was rubbish. Selflessly giving Porthos the advantage, in fact. "Her lip would only be bleeding if it had been bitten..." He suggested eloquently, Aramis' eyes widened at the insinuation. "Did someone bite her lip, Aramis?" "...Shut up, Porthos!" The lovestruck Musketeer stammered. The deeply feeling of Constance a ghostly presence in his thoughts, just as the sensation of his fingers brushing against her lip was a ghostly presence in hers.
What, with my thin lips and my eyes too close together?""Tally. And my frizzy hair and squashed-down nose? Don't say that, don't say that. " His fingers brushed her cheeks, where the scratches were almost healed, and ran fleetingly across her lips.
A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of significant import had been given her to control the working of her body and her soul. She grew daring and reckless, overestimating her strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum before.
jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He
“No, in fact, I believe that spatter and the subsequent puddle of blood were caused by her falling on the ground and essentially bleeding out.”
...d her to the extent that her semi-barbaric natured demanded. The idea of the young maiden bearing the children, which the princess knew should be hers, gave rise to her usually dormant rage. All the while, the princess was also thinking of going through her days without being able to set her eyes upon her life’s one true affection. Would she be able to bear witnessing his demise at the hands of the ferocious beast and not having given the information that could have spared him such a horrid fate? Would the memory of him serve her better than his physical presence? Never had the princess felt so powerless while at the same time possessing the all encompassing information that would inevitably decide her lover’s fate. As the princess sat with her thoughts, her eyes suddenly gazed upon the eyes of her lover and with the slight flick of a wrist, fate had been decided.
...tween Nemecia’s knees, my face in her hands, her attention swept over me the way I imagined a wave would, warm and slow and salty.
Allie scanned the area, though she barely moved her head. "Whatever it is, it sounds a lot closer than I like."
She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over...
His other hand glided down her shoulder to her hand and she thought she might faint. Then he held his hand up, holding up her hand with his, her hand-holding Adam’s pen with a death
Ray smiled back, “yep, that was me.” He then saw her right ankle and his smile fell. Her ankle was bandaged up, and he soon realized why.
“It’s okay, Detective, it was a rhetorical question. I- I already know I’m dangerous too. I can destroy things with a touch — look at the door if you don’t believe me. And you saw what I did to Sheriff Higgins-” Her voice cracked causing her to clear her throat in hopes of covering up the swelling emotion. Her nose felt stuffy and her bottom lip quivered, but she refused to shed another tear feeling sorry for herself.
The narrator describes the physical feeling he gets from her presence and speech by saying, “But my body was like a harp and her words and her gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.” I interpreted this quote
Patroclus blankly stared, coming to terms with what he had just heard. "I think I understand now." He said at last, a grin slowly finding its way to his face.
Crumpled skin peeking beyond cuffs, her face sinks, her lips spotted and parted to show
Small droplets of blood cascaded down the front of her dress. “You are wrong; I am not your daughter."