Sixteen, Irish, I love writing fiction and adventure stories. I'm very passionate about my writing, I want it as a career and it means a whole lot to me.

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A piece I wrote to try and make sense of some new characters. Hope you enjoy!

Peculiar Faces

May 7, 2016


Strange people, all of them.
Strange people with odd goals and peculiar appearances.
Isabel hated them all.
To her left, of course, sat the man she hated most in the room- tall, too tall, his skin dark but paling with lack of sunlight, the gaze from his blood red eyes completely unbearable. Dressed head to toe in black, his cloak obscuring his skeletal frame and his many scars he hid so well. His small smirk was never far from his mouth, And a sharp tounge was quick to follow. To his other side sat his brother, his legs planted firmly to the ground, the buckles on his shining shoes glinting like the gold tooth in his mouth when he smiled, ever so politely. Not a hair out of place, a perfect statue of a perfect man, his hair slicked back, his small goatee trimmed to the very last bit of stubble, his hands shielded by ivory silken gloves, his body elegant in his three-piece suit and tie and his pleasing demeanour. What a pair the two were- one the pinnacle of normality, the other a sickening sight of pure evil. And to think, they were brothers…No wonder they couldn’t stand one another.
To Isabel’s right, the man she knew the least about. Tall, broad-shouldered, his breathing deep and heavy, he looked like he needed sleep. His hair was to his shoulders, tangled, matted, his appearance untamed, like a wild wolf. His eyes were steely grey, and he stared straight ahead, unphased by the people around him, his expression solemn,. He wore a tattered old coat, and scuffed boots, his muscular arms folded across his chest and his toe tapping on the floor to an irregular beat. Isabel could tell he’d been here longer than any of them, not just in this room, but on this earth- he radiated wisdom.
The two brothers at the end of the room were similar-looking- the same black hair, the same small speckle of stubble on their chins, similar builds. One was slightly taller, and slightly more buff than the other. This brother wore a black jumper and jeans, big, old-fashioned military boots, while the other made do with a velvety black shirt and trousers, and big, square glasses. The two of them had the same smile- creepy, unnerving, like they knew something everyone else didn’t. And their eyes…One had lilac, the other a dark fuschia. What was it with creepy old men and strange eye colours?? Isabel was sure her and the evil man’s brother were the only ones with NORMAL eyes, hers an emerald green, and his a chocolatey brown, warm and welcoming.
She was also very certain that they were the only two there with normal names. Her, Isabel Flame. The man she would rather die than sit next to, Sarobous McCain, his brother, Benjamin McCain. The vampire on her right, Sever Blackery, and the brothers of witchcraft, her uncles, Spector and Cyprian Smiler.
What an odd little group they were.
And then, of course, the shining star, the crown jewel of their little group of freaks…Theodore.
Now, of course, Theo is quite a normal name, but the spectacle of a man before them was the furthest from normal that any of them strayed. His build was petite, slim and light, and dainty. He wore a shirt and black trousers, dress shoes, with shiny gold buckles to match his shiny golden hair, which was slicked back off of his face, perhaps not as tidily as he’d intended. A magnificent red tailcoat hing off his slender frame, the trim a dark crimson, the underside beautifully crafted. Isabel had heard him say he’d taken the tailcoat from the arms of a dying man. She was very quick to believe him. His skin was perfectly tanned, un-flawed, to the point where he looked like a doll, and his eyes were a crystal, electric blue. They bored into Isabel’s soul, filled her with an unexplainable dread, and made her want to spill her darkest secrets. His smile was the most disturbing, however. An endless, listless grin, spread from cheek to cheek, eerie and hopeless, like a Cheshire cat, like a sliver of moon. His nails were filed into claws, longer than any nails Isabel had ever seen on a woman, let alone a man. But…He could hardly be considered a man. He looked like the perfect picture of a human one might draw if they weren’t quite sure of the concept. Isabel knew who he really was. So did everyone else in the room. He was why they were all leaning back in their seats, to stay as far away from him as possible. He was the Devil. Satan. Lucifer, the fourth-dimensional being sent to wreak havoc in their lives and in their souls. He was the most evil man in this room, and they all knew it.


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