Post by inkstainedangel on Dec 8, 2007 14:53:54 GMT -5
He rocked her body gently. Her frail, withered, hand, touched his perfect face. Her dull, dying eyes, looked up into his golden pupiless ones. Her once smooth, beutiful skin seamed as if it was going to fall away.
"Izabella," he sighed. His hand stroked her grey hair, once alive with a bronze sheen in golden locks.
"Flinx, why waste your time with me?" her voice was cracked. " I'm gone now, my ange of fire. I am dying, the wind is calling for my shadow,"
"No, no Bella," he held her close. "No, don't leave me, I love you,"
"I-I can't Flinx," dead tears fell from her dying eyes. "I can't hold on, I must-" she took one of the last few remaining breaths of air reseved for her. "I must go,"
"I love you, love you," he kept saying, as he rocked back and forth.
"I love you my burning sun, I love you too," she looked up at him longingly, before he felt her give. He felt her fall. He felt her die.
"I love you," he repeated, again and again. "I love you Izabella,"
he carressed her withered, old, frame with kisses. Her closed, dead eyes; her frail dead hands; her hallow breasts; her broken heart. Lastly, he kissed her mouth.
When he broke away, it was set as a smile. An everlastingly young, and beutiful smile-how he would remember her as always; living, within death.
End
"Izabella," he sighed. His hand stroked her grey hair, once alive with a bronze sheen in golden locks.
"Flinx, why waste your time with me?" her voice was cracked. " I'm gone now, my ange of fire. I am dying, the wind is calling for my shadow,"
"No, no Bella," he held her close. "No, don't leave me, I love you,"
"I-I can't Flinx," dead tears fell from her dying eyes. "I can't hold on, I must-" she took one of the last few remaining breaths of air reseved for her. "I must go,"
"I love you, love you," he kept saying, as he rocked back and forth.
"I love you my burning sun, I love you too," she looked up at him longingly, before he felt her give. He felt her fall. He felt her die.
"I love you," he repeated, again and again. "I love you Izabella,"
he carressed her withered, old, frame with kisses. Her closed, dead eyes; her frail dead hands; her hallow breasts; her broken heart. Lastly, he kissed her mouth.
When he broke away, it was set as a smile. An everlastingly young, and beutiful smile-how he would remember her as always; living, within death.
End