Robin-West

As the two of use neared the next town, I was quickly going into sensory overload, and that little burning feeling in the back of my throat had worsened three fold. I itched at my throat endlessly, my sharp nails causing small lacerations, yet they healed very quickly. “Will the burning ever go away?” I asked. “This annoying burning in my throat, like I’ve been parched for nearly a fortnight.” He stopped his horse, slipping off its back nimbly. I stopped as well. “The burning can be abated for a time, but it is always there. For the moment, if we do not get you blood soon, it shall grow to a dangerous level

It had been only twenty four hours, and aside from sleeping for most of it, I woke up already feeling like a new woman, someone completely unfamiliar. At barely twenty years of age I suspected I had still had some filling out left to do, but that would be no longer. I was frozen into this foreign body. Sounds and noises seemed so new and strange, more vivid, and well, just plain ole' loud. Colors looked a whole heck of a lot brighter too, and every touch, every feeling was a new and different experience. I had even stopped breathing! Just the notion alone seemed so far fetched. Charles said eating and crying will be the next to go. He told me

When I woke, my head felt as though  it was on fire, and that I’d been run over by a train. Something warm spilled into my mouth, and I coughed it out, the liquid tastes strongly of metal. A burning sensation spread through my chest, and I tried desperately to breathe and cough out the liquid choking me. “Keep it down you sodding woman!” a British accented voice commanded. Some of it managed to spill down my throat, and I gagged more. I opened my eyes and saw the face of my killer, but why wasn't dead yet? I thought I died, and that I moved on to heaven. I’m a good catholic girl, I sure ain't going to hell. I batted at

With a sly a practiced movement, I slipped open the poison ring, dumping its contents into his wine. He would never know what hit him, none of them did. I didn't get my name of Florence the Wrath for nothing. But he didn't know my real name was Florence, he knew me as - “Eloise, luv, hurry along now. You shouldn't keep a man waiting for his lush n' miss for very long,” Charles called from the bedroom, his deep voice rumbling with a sensual British accent. I finished pouring a glass for myself, and exited the parlor. Perhaps I didn't have the same tall curvy figure as men usually desired, but with a little extra cloth here and the