Bawah Mata Hitam Dan Berkerut Novels & Stories

Even though he had been around for hours now, I could not stop myself from sneaking fearful looks his way. The man's forehead was totally covered with deep wrinkles, which were as uneven as his obviously turbulent life. Bushy black and grey brows, frowned from time to time, made these wrinkles even deeper, and all these gave the man's face rather a strict expression. His pointy face was framed with short thinning hair, and one could notice a small bald spot on the top of the head. His side whiskers that began on the temples were coming down to an accurate small beard, which he was always stroking once in a while. It was possible to see a little mole on the outer side of the eye. The mole was

Dis had an extremely irritated look plastered across his face, but that didn't bother me as much as the condition in which he had let himself slip. I shook my head as I looked Dis up and down. His eyes were always black, but they were darker than usual with rings surrounding them. His normally well-kept short black hair was growing out and in desperate need of grooming. His well-defined jawline was hidden by a thick black scraggly beard that needed to be removed. And I swear he must be losing weight, as his Godly body didn't look as muscular as it used to. No, this won't do at all.

The hard face, overgrown with prickly bristles, was devoid of any expression, and in the eyes ... in the eyes of the dead wasteland. Lesana had never seen such a heavy look before. It did not reflect any feelings, no spark of fun, no curiosity, no fatigue. Nothing. And there were eyes, expressionless looking from under black straight eyebrows, as gray as a cloudy winter sky. And just as cold. And the right cheek of the kref was disfigured by a white welt of an uneven scar.

Angela looked at her mother's face and noticed a blue mark beneath her eye, "he hit you again didn't he" Her mother is beautiful in all aspects. Her smile shines like the sun at sunrise; she has black hair with shimmering sprays of white, long, and smooth curls like noodle spaghetti. Her eyes are black and round, filled with love even though one eye is blue; when she laughs, you can see a beautiful love on the side of her cheek.

Seorang cewek berkacamata mengangkat tangan. “Lama waktu saat seseorang menggunakan Bakat tidak boleh lebih dari dua jam,” cewek itu berujar. “Atau setidaknya, hingga tubuh mulai merasa tidak mampu lagi mengeluarkan kekuatan. Gejalanya adalah pusing, lemas, sesak napas, dan mata berkunang-kunang. Jika tetap dipaksakan, maka akan menyebabkan kematian.” Pak Zub bertepuk tangan tiga kali dan bertanya, “Siapa namamu?”

I breathed, my voice barely audible above the night’s whispers. He turned slowly, his face etched with a weariness that went beyond simple fatigue. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were shadowed, dulled with a bleakness that chilled me to the bone. Dark circles underscored their intensity, evidence of sleepless nights and heavy burdens. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his usually strong features seemed almost gaunt.

His r‌ibs strain‌ed against sweat-slicked skin‍. His eyes had gone almost black. His pupils were blown⁠ wide, unrecogni‌zable, feral.⁠ No te‍nd‍e‍rnes‌s remained. There was only hu‍nger, rage, and somethin‌g fundamen‌tally brok‌en.‌

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.

I said out loud to my reflection, and the cheeky bitch gave me a disgusted look in reply. My eyes were so sore, so I pulled down my bottom eyelids to inspect them. They were usually bright blue in color and sparkled in the light. Today they were dull, bloodshot, and crudely cradled by large, dark gray bags. It looked like I had been crying all night. Or had been punched in the face by a gorilla. I huffed and turned my attention to my usually neat and shiny, mousy brown hair. “Wow!” I raised my left eyebrow in shock and disgust. It looked like I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. It was sticking up all over the place and was matted together too.

If her figure wasn't bad enough , her face was horrible enough to make babies cry for months . Her eyes were sunken , swollen and rheumy . Her face simply screamed desolation and despair . Her tears were falling like waterfalls and her beautiful blonde hair has turned into wispy, stringy white tufts of hair . Her lips cracked and bleeding as if she has been chewing on them for ages .