‘ do you see those claw marks? ’ the attic is her husband’s pride and joy : there is love welcomed into every inch of this beast ( antique torture devices are scattered across the floor, each one oiled to perfection -- the crowning jewel was a chair in the middle of the room, on a slightly raised platform, a crank hidden away at the side ... one pull and it would slice the poor, unsuspecting person in half ). she does not point at the chair, however. a pale finger extends ever outwards, pointing just above the windows, where deep welts bruised the wallpaper’s lavender skin. SHE HOLDS A GLASS OF WINTER WINE, BLACKENED WITH A FEW DROPS OF SOMETHING SHE’D RATHER KEEP SECRET. when she smiles, it is a cold thing : she does not invite. ‘ guess how they got there. ’ @talbite
