She defiled my house in the name of Halloween—strung lights through my bones, laughed in the halls where I died.
She called it festive. I call it blasphemy.
Now I’ll clip this little bird’s wings and break her open until she learns what fear really tastes like.
She called it festive. I call it blasphemy.
Now I’ll clip this little bird’s wings and break her open until she learns what fear really tastes like.
Used availability for Eleanor Crowe's Scream For Me