Thread: Esper Haunting.

... You... Were in another dream I had last night. It was more like a nightmare, in retrospect...

I stood up, and looked around. I saw you standing by my window. "Liz..?" The words escaped my lips, barely audible over the thunder outside. The next bolt of lightning shook the foundation of the house, and in the split-second of light, I burst into flame. You turned to look at me, but... You were staring through me... Like you saw beauty in the flames, or the fact that I was burning. I reached out to touch you, but you didn't recoil. Contrary to my situation, frost formed on your flesh, and you drew a sharp breath in. Your pale skin burned my eyes with each flash of lightning. My hand is on your arm, Liz.

The rain began to pick up, and the thunder shook the house terribly. The lightning cracked so fast it took on a stroboscopic effect. Your clothes were lost in increments, becoming black irregularities across my floor. I stood confused as you appeared closer to me with each flash. Your hands are on my belt, Liz.

Your lips made contact with mine, and the storm threatened to tear the roof off of the house. The wind howled, and we barely flinched as a tree branch came through the window. Rain pelted us, feeling more like thumb tacks than water. We were unmoved. We were unharmed. My mind developed a haze, as if I'd been drugged. I didn't know what was happening. Your lips are on mine, Liz.

A burning unlike anything I've ever felt rushed through my body, as my hands found their way to your hip. The began to flow over your body, like 5-fingered parasites, feeding on beauty. I began shaking in ecstasy. The roof of the house peeled off, and an unholy, supernatural chill crept into the room. You pushed me onto the waterlogged mattress and climbed on top of me. Your hands are on my chest, Liz.

Your eyes began to glow a demonic red, and the raging tempest above us came to an immediate halt. You took your finger, and traced a series of shapes on my chest. A heart, a pentagram, and a cross. A feral growl rumbled from my throat, and you began to laugh. The lines your traced began to bleed profusely, and my skin melted off. A terrible silence fell between us. Why aren't you talking, Liz?

An unexpected and terrifying crack of thunder roused me from my trance-like state. The blood from the shapes now dyed the mattress a deep, vivid red. It stood out against the generally black or white surroundings, permeated by the occasional indigo stream of light from the tempest. My skin began to dissolve, and drip away with the rain. Would you get off of me, Liz?

In the next flash of lightning, I looked down, and saw that my entire appearance had shifted. My skin took on a misty, shadowy black tone. My fingernails were red, and my veins were visible under my skin as white threads running across my body. Most notably, though, was my physique. I resembled someone who practiced yoga regularly; my body covered in lean muscle. Why did you change me, Liz?

I grabbed you by your shoulders and threw you off of me with a distinct amount of force. You hit the wall, and a soft scream of pain flowed out. Maybe I had underestimated my newfound strength. Maybe not. I rushed to the mirror and examined my face in the pale purple flashes of lightning. My eyes were mere blue-lights, leaving a haunting trail every time I moved. Why aren't you moving, Liz?

I approached your limp frame on the ground, and you were no longer naked. You were lying on the ground, fully clothed. An intoxicating, almost erotic scent filled the air, and a warm liquid made contact with my bare foot. I looked down to see a black puddle rolling across the floor. I realized it was your blood. Why aren't you breathing, Liz?

I reached down and touched you, and frost formed on my skin. The flames around me finally went out, and I reverted to my original appearance. I fell back, into a sitting position on the soaked carpet. My face fell into my hands and I cried for a long time. Fatigue got the better of me, and I fell asleep.When I awoke several hours later, I stood up, and looked around. I saw you standing by my window. "Liz..?"

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Constructive criticism and proofreading is appreciated, and for those of you wondering about the story I was writing (His Final Hour...) it turns out I -WON'T- be finishing it any time in the foreseeable future. The reason why is because I pretty much can't think on such a depressing level without alcohol, and I'm currently unemployed. No money, no booze;no booze, no good writing. But it'll get finished before I die and you get to say "I remember years ago when this project was doomed due to his sobriety."

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