Even though it was dark out, and all the hot teens who kill people were locked in their chambers, I somehow managed to leave mine undetected, sliding my skinny little Polly Pocket body through the edges of my vaulted door. I moved Taylor Sw*ftly, heading towards the one place that gave me comfort in this hellhole of a prison: the library. Where no one ever went except for me because I'm different and quirky and like to lead. The library was off limits to prisoners, and even though it held all of Tic Tac's ancient history, for some reason it was uninteresting to everyone in the realm. But not to me. The smell of black mold and asbestos and 300-year old dust clouded my senses, welcoming me like a bouncer at a club as I made my way through the candle-lit fire hazard shelves. "Now I'm quite certain you're not supposed to be here" a silky low one hundred thousand dollar sounding voice called from behind my bony shoulder. I jumped, almost tripping over my silly little baby bird feet as I turned. The prince, who was not in his usual formal attire, but in a pair of Buzz Lightyear spaceship pajamas, was standing before me towering overly like the Hulk. The candle light danced across his chiseled jawline and his dark brown fusilli curls fell in front of sleepy blue orbs. It made Cornhole look almost…human. I gathered my shock, praying that the split second I faltered he didn't notice. But the way the corners or his mouth turned upward like the Cheshire Cat told me he did. "And I thought you couldn't read! But look at that, here we are," I said, hiding the ancient tome I had pulled from the shelf behind by stick thin body as I tried to casually move out of his gaze. He stepped closer, pressing his ice cube tray abs against my small frame and giant rack. His breath was warm and damp like a dog as he laced a large hand behind my waist grabbing onto the book in my hands. He smiled. His dentine teeth shining in the dark as his lapis lazuli eyes flicked to my mouth. "I could have you killed you know." My stomach slut dropped, aching for him to rip my insides open and wear me like a tracksuit. "Do it," I breathed. The words leaking out of me like an anxious girl with IBS. He growled, low and guttural, like he was about to devour me whole as he leaned into my uncooked linguine hair. "Tempting," he whispered, pulling back and taking the book from me in one quick swoop. "But I think I'll wait. Who knows what you'll get up to alive." He winked at me like a car salesman and moonwalked out the door, leaving me standing there star struck and empty-handed. What the hell was that??
2087
janainaart
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
