E.V. Black > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

Her flesh became ice, her hair frost, and her eyes cold, sparkling crystal.

It is the perfect love that is given without expectation of reciprocation.

She is an alien in a foreign land of changing seasons and feelings.

I thought I could be happy. But I guess I’ll be denied.

Every time I believe you to be different, you perpetually remind me that the world is yours.

Her ice cream presence made her hard to resist.

The little girl had a mother.

A sweet Victorian temper turns her features from quietly obscure to a terrifying creature.

Her name was Annabel-Lee. This is the story of how she was buried alive.

A cool drink is what my throat pleads for.