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FronterasMi sueño es su pesadilla.
The words whispered themselves in his ears with every scrape of the knife against the wooden block in front of him. The scent of fresh cut wood clung to all of the available surfaces as slivers drifted to the ground, already forgotten. Dust floated in the workroom, freed from their confines in the wood by the sharp metal that was now etching fine lines into the wooden waves. Worn fingers wrapped themselves tighter around the leather handle as sharp brown eyes narrowed in on the finer features of the figure's face.
If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was back in his father's workshop in Tampico, Mexico. The city was on the coast, named for the otters that lived in the surrounding rivers. Pedro Montez had lived there until he was twenty-five with his parents and younger sister, alternating work between his father's woodshop in the evenings and the lumber mill during the day.
Leah TalvaniName: Leah Talvani
She comes from a normal family of four, and has an older brother with whom she doesn't get along with very well. The only thing remarkable was her ability to adapt to any situation and slowly but calmly work it to her favor. She used to be a chatterbox, but as she grew up she saw that she missed a lot of detail by talking and not listening. So the chattiness eventually left her personality and she became too quiet for her parents' liking. She has attended school and is not a problem child, but had noticed that in a fast-paced world, people tend to get left behind and details are missed. She also used to be a trusting person, but something happened in her life to break her trust and faith in other people. She isn't a fighter, but will fight to defend herself if necessary, having learned her tricks by watching and clashing with ot
The rain pounded ceaselessly against his back and head as he guided his mount down the cobblestone path. But he didn't need to see to get to his destination; he and the mount had inadvertently memorized the roads from having crept through them countless times in the past. It was her face that propelled him forward through the bone-soaking rain of the early winter night. Finally he released the control of the reins to the mount; it had traversed this path before.
The summer sun was high in the sky as he lay down in the grass, his head in her lap.
Her hometown looked as it always had. The buildings in small clusters on each small block, the entire place surrounding the dismal square. He looked as the mount continued on. The once vibrant trees in the center were now completely dead, its leaves gone and skeletal branches bowed to the elements. His lips thinned; of course the trees would die. Afte
Broken MusicHer slender wrist was surrounded by a loop of smooth blue velvet fabric as she kept her hand loosely wrapped around his waist. His hand was a warm pressure against her lower back while his long fingers on his other hand kept intertwining with her slender ones. She peeked at him shyly through her blond bangs, and felt her heart warm to see his comforting smile, his dark eyes twinkling underneath his dark hair. His fingers squeezed hers briefly, and she yearned to close the cold space between them. His smile made up for the warmth though, it radiated out and warmed her soul.
She held back a little laugh as he quickly checked to make sure his tuxedo hadn't ripped in the back by accident. He was always complaining that his suit was too stiff for this sort of dancing but she saw through the veil of his complaints. Forget about enduring this particular dance, he would weather a fierce storm for her if it meant she
Still HereHer laughter sounds like bells to my ears, and I turn, half-expecting to see her twirling around on the gray patio outside the small summer cottage. But to my heart's disappointment, I do not see her. Instead I see the swirling clouds of a marching storm. The lashing of the blue-gray waves against the rocks beyond the safety of the land. For a moment, I see a flash of unnatural white against the darkness, but I shrug it off, my eyes sliding from the large glass door to the tortoise-patterned cat that is sitting in her favorite chair. Its dark eyes regard me thoughtfully, but I look away, knowing that she isn't there. I wander from the living room into the kitchen, looking at the counter. But she isn't there, so I move to the bedroom.
I don't look at the guilty gray sedan outside.
I only spare the bedroom a cursory glance; the bed is still made up on her side. There is still an indentation on the gra
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More