Novel & Cerita Bawah Mata Hitam Dan Berkerut

(eyes full anger and tears) Grandmother : we can't stop that curse. I'm sorry. Zayn : no you all liars, I'm not going to believe your words. (Angry) Grandmother : if you don't trust that , see your wife's neck. It's started with black dot and it's increase day by day like big blackspot, then it's covered your wife's body. It's turned her Skin colour full of black. This is first step of that curse, it means darkness definitely eat your love.

His once vibrant eyes, now dulled by the passage of time and the weight of suffering, met mine. His face, once full of life and wisdom, now looked like a canvas painted with the harsh strokes of mortality. His skin, wrinkled and weathered, spoke of battles fought both within and without. It was as if some unseen force had cast a spell, aging him beyond his years. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, aware of the fragility of the moment.

Nabitawan ko ang kutsilyo at marahang napaatras nang maramdaman ko ang sakit at panghihina. Umangat ang tingin ko sa naglalako ng prutas at naestatwa nang bigla na lamang pumula ang mga mata niya. Black smoke suddenly appeared from his body at nagsimulang magbago ang anyo niya. He was staring at my pulse, as if wanting to devour me. Large ears came out from his head and bones cracking while his skin started to turn dark with black furs. Nagsihulog na ang mga prutas na nilalako at isa-isang nagsimulang magsitakbuhan ang mga tao.

His face was completely red and sweaty with dark bags under his eyes. His breathing was heavy, "I need..." he grunted out between labored breaths. "I can't... I don't think..." he trailed off. "God damn it!" He muttered under his breath and pushed his hands through his messy black hair roughly. I could hear him gasping for air.

There was no longer enough blood flowing through them to keep them healthy. His eyes were closed, and the skin around them had sunk so deeply that he looked as though he had not slept in weeks. His hair had thinned dramatically, with patches already fallen away. Dark, irregular blotches mottled his skin.

Frayed golden threads unraveled down the fabric, revealing a dark underlayer that resembled dried veins. Its face was so pale it was nearly translucent, but the fine lines around its eyes and mouth were filled with grime that had seeped in over the years—shadowed creases that refused to fade. Its brows were thin, neatly arched, drawn in fine strokes of ink that gave them a faintly mocking tilt. Its pupil-less eyes shone like black beads, as deep as ancient wells. No matter where one stood, it felt as though its gaze followed them.

Her hair and nails are so dirty that it looks like she has taken no bath for a week or a month. With the support of a jeep on her back, she moved down slowly and slowly and sat there crying. Her eyes have become red and black circles are found around her eyes. It looks like she has also not taken a nap for many days. Now, she was crying and moving her hand down. She put her fingers between her teeth to slow down the voice of her crying but again started to cry very badly and, put a punch with her hand and repeatedly hit lightly on her forehead.

Some of the gold threads had already worn out, revealing the dark base beneath, resembling dried bloodstains. Its face was so pale it was almost transparent, yet in the fine lines around its eye sockets and mouth, there was an accumulation of stubborn gray-black grime, as if shadows had seeped in over the years. Its eyebrows were delicately arched like willow leaves, outlined with fine ink strokes, slightly raised with an indescribable sneer. The eyes were two black beads, without pupils, like bottomless ancient wells, staring intently no matter the angle.

His forehead tightened, and his neck hung down; the skin squeezing together to form long wrinkles that disappeared under his torn shirt. I watched his skin hang limply around his face until he was now an old man, aged by wrinkles and clasping his spotted hands together. His veins were so prominent that they protruded from under his skin. His eyes had sunk back into his head but were still sparkling; which was the only life about him. Even his black hair had shrivelled into wiry grey strands that were tangled around his balding head.

Its golden waves were now matted and greasy, clumps hanging in her face like she’d been locked up in this cell for months instead of weeks. Her face was drawn and tired, and her cheeks were stained with old mascara from tears that had long since dried up. Her eyes were ringed with red, the once-white scleras now a sickly, glassy hue. And she sat curled up in the corner with her knees drawn to her chest while she scratched tick marks into the wall with her nails.