You can see right into her watery sapphire eyes, noticing the spidery, thin, red, veins that have crept into their whites. The crusted ring of saliva around her mouth disturbs you. You want to look away but she holds your stare. Those wide, inky, watering eyes will be mirrors, lenses, and window panes for you to cower behind and observe with. Don't scrutinize too much, you might actually find yourself in Kasey's wreckage.
You can still feel it, can't you? The warm breath on your cheek after you wake from your nightmarish slumbers. The hot condensation whispering in your ear, memories of the tales you just submerged yourself in. In the witching hours, these tales of macabre will penetrate your anxious mind. You will ruminate on the bloody, rusted scissors, left lying on the floor. The swaying, humming, skeleton will burn her image into your memory. The purring, cooing, demon will lull your eyes closed. The screeching owl who collects infants’ bones and devours damsels’ souls will smother your mouth shut with her bloody, feathered wings. These tales will entrap you in their embrace and remind you that there is no escape.