Everyone within a twenty-foot radius has now seen my new lime-green cheeky tangas.
In the house behind the sword ferns, there was a man, and a murderer, and a stain.
Night was falling in the video game world of Arcadia, and the sky was darkening line by line.
Nearly everyone died those first few nights.
The eyes are all wrong.
The night Violet died, we had just finished celebrating her eighteenth birthday.
The dead raven on the doorstep is not a good sign.
Even though I’m the Theatre Kid, my sister’s the dramatic one.
A raven perched on my windowsill, and she wanted to talk.
A cool breeze scratched across the back of Ash’s neck, as though the menacing fortress behind him had reached forward with its own pointed claws to taste his flesh.
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