Hello fellow Butterfly bloggers!!
I’ve decided to go for a different sort of post today and ask for all of YOUR opinions on this snippet of a story. This is only an opening prologue and I want you to review it for me and let us know your honest opinions! I would also love it if you can share what you think this sort of story is by looking at the prologue and what sort of story line you believe it will follow in the rest of the piece. I look forward to hearing from you!
I won’t lie; I wouldn’t have believed it either. It's like falling into a storybook, and not a pleasant one at that. There are times I wonder if it even happened because it's so farfetched, but even if it wasn't real I would still have to question my sanity for conjuring up such dark, powerful fantasies.
However I always come to the same conclusion in these scattered thoughts-I was there-it all existed; all down to the last thorn on the rose. I’ve become nocturnal now; I sit and stare at the moon praying helplessly to the goddess of night. I know there's a big piece of me that wants to return to that beautiful twisted hell. It felt like the home I never had. The 'fantasy' world has become who I am since I left it, it’s almost an obsession. I spend my days in a daze watching the world around me as it slowly fades. I find sanctuary within the wildlife now. I often find myself at the water ledge of the lake that runs through the woods; its undoubtable similarity haunting me. It doesn’t quite glitter the way Lake Styria did, and I know without a doubt it doesn’t play home for the same creatures. There are times I will get the courage to dip my toes in and feel the current gently tug on my feet. Each time without fail I would close my eyes and slip into my memories of the world I left behind. My beautiful twisted world. What I wouldn’t give to be there...
The dream always starts the same. When I close my eyes I can feel his touch. That ice cold beautifully deadly touch. I can feel the way he runs his fingertips along my side whilst I sleep, and moves up to my face, moving the loose curl back behind my ear. In my sanctuary of sleep he always kisses his two fingers and gently touches them to my cheek. Then he begins to run the back of his hand along my neck sending warm chills over me as I feel the goose bumps wave up and down my skin. He runs his fingers gently over the scars that are hideous to me; spiraling patterns over my skin, making me feel so relaxed. I’m in ecstasy. He kisses my forehead and gives a wordless whisper before wrapping his arms around me again. He would hold me close to him-tight and protective; as if letting go would cause me to slip away. My heart aches to be held by him; to inhale his scent, to look into his eyes, to see that cheeky smile. I won’t ever forget the one that got away.