Cent et Un Mots par Jour

Cent et Un Mots par Jour


The darkness is almost complete. A maniacal laugh reverberates through the manor. A scent of decay and mould floats above the large black caldron, but it barely covers a more ancient smell of cruelty, death and poison. Heavy footsteps are getting closer and closer, matching the beats of my heart. The poor organ is pounding so hard that it threathens to break out of my chest. The cry of the wind between the cracks in the walls, the rustle of the antique curtains, the creaking of the floorboards under invisible feet... I shake with fear, but I can't move. I want to fly away, I want all this to be nothing more than a bad dream. But then the door opens, and a dark silhouette is facing me. When I finally see the glowing red eyes, I feel my heart ripping.



Claire Annovazzi

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