She had a very peculiar definition of being romantic…
Pulling up the large sleeves of her gawn to her elbows, she bent down on her grimoire-like journal. Dipped in the crimson ink, her quill started scratching the paper religiously.
She wrote love with a passion that threatened to set every page she turned on fire. It only seemed fair that every scarlet letter she lay on her blank canvas contained a mix of both their bloods.
The loud cry interrupted her frantic hand. She smiled. She could use a break.
Coming, my Love! You obviously need more sleeping pills….
This year, I am dedicating my A to Z Challenge to 100 words pieces of fiction, based on unusual (sometimes a little obsolete) words. If you’d like to get the full list of my challenge posts, just click here.