Dried Blood Under Skin Novels & Stories

He was talking about his wife here, whose life could be taken at any time. He felt his shoes get caught on a thorn as he started to walk once again. He felt uncomfortable because of it. When he activated his torchlight and flashed it on the stick he had stepped on, blood was seen on it. He gave it a thorough inspection and observed the suspiciously dense layer of dried leaves on the ground. Dry leaves could only be found there. With his legs, Din strewn the leaves. Yet again, he could see more blood, and when he knelt down to touch it, he found that it was still fresh.

With the fingertips of her other hand, she pressed the edges flat so they adhered to the wound's surface, as if she were planting something. She peeled the bark from her palm. It was smeared with her blood. She spread the blood over the back of her hand, smearing it with her fingers. The blood dried on her skin, contracting, the edges curling up. She scratched the dried scab off with her nail and held it in her palm. The blood scab was dark red. Curled. Like a dried flower petal. She flattened it with her thumb and placed it beside the frostbite scar on the web between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

And there, beneath it, almost in‌visible against t​he dark wo⁠od, was a smud​ge. ​ Not dust. It was a dull,​ rusty brown, fl⁠aked and dry. A cres​cent​,‍ the size of a⁠ fing⁠ernail. A fi‌n‍gerprint in blood​. My‍ b‍reat​h seized. The air left the roo‌m. I stared, my mind racing. Silas somet​im‌es n⁠icked h⁠ims​elf shaving.​ But he didn’t shav⁠e here. Thi​s was old‌ blood. From the night he fel‌l​ i‌ll?

Shе’ѕ wеаrіng аn armband of ѕоrtѕ tо hide thе dаmаgе, but it hаѕ ѕlірреd down аnd еxроѕеѕ еvеrу hоlе that’s been mаdе in hеr skin оvеr the lаѕt two weeks. Thеrе’ѕ a lumр rіght іn the crook оf hеr fоrеаrm. It’ѕ in the space whеrе a needle hаѕ made іt mark tоо оftеn. It’ѕ wееріng pus. Mу frіеnd isn’t just wаѕtеd, she’s sick.

It's in the ground and the water comes from an underground spring so it's a milky blue color and feels smooth as silk. I use a fluffy towel to dry my skin and move to stand in front of the mirror. I pull my hair to the side so I can look at the mark. It's no longer bloody and is already starting to heal. My gaze wanders down and I shake my head a little at the red-purple splotches scattered across my chest and down my stomach. "Okay next time we make out, I'm giving you a dozen of these," I say, pulling on my nightgown and walking into the room.

against my brutally heated body made me Not when I found myself completely soft on the bed of that strange kingdom, watching me in the ceiling mirror that accompanied the entire length of the bed. My image was depressing, to say the least. As much as the color of the dress didn't help much with its pink and pale tone, my skin no longer contained any color. My eyelids exhibited venous lines that left my entire eye purplish, like dark circles under the eyes of those who haven't slept in a long time. My lips were dry, withered, and my tongue tried from time to time to moisten them, even if there wasn't a drop of saliva in my mouth.

He growled in my head, urging me to move on to the next victim. I took a thorough look at the next person who lay lifelessly on the ground. The blue dye on his black hair had become an undertone of red as a result of the dried blood that matted his hair. His eyes, unlike the blonde's, were partially gorged out, and his face was contorted in a permanent expression of fear. Black veins crawled up his neck. I used my hands to trace the veins down, and I noticed they were spread all over his body, just like the blonde.

The deep red liquid spilled onto her shirt, staining it and spreading outwards like a macabre halo. The blood had already started to dry on her skin, leaving a dark, crusty trail that extended from her neck down to her chin. The sight of it made me feel sick to my stomach. As I looked closer, I noticed that the blood had also trickled down onto Clara's face, leaving smears of red on her cheeks and forehead.

It revealed it. The dried blood split and darkened beneath the newborn light. The shape of his mouth caught between breath and battle-cry looked more distorted now, every line sharpened by the sun. His eyes, half-open and empty, caught the sunrise and threw it back… glass set on fire, shining with no life behind it. His skin looked wrong in daylight… too still and pale beneath the claws of death. The blood in his beard gleamed thick and black, it looked more like it had been burned into him rather than spilled.

Good to know. I scrubbed a hand over my face and felt a strange, flakiness across my fingers. I glanced down at my hand and stilled. Dark, red flakes were dotted across my palm. Dried blood. Standing on shaking legs, I made my way to the mirror. My nose had been bleeding, I realized, as I started at the mess of my reflection. A long line of dark blood had run from my nose, down over my lips, and even reached my throat. It had dried in nearly a perfect line until I’d smeared it all over. Rust-coloured scaly flakes now decorated my chin and cheeks. Heading for the shower, I stopped dead in the hallway, as a cool breeze blew across my bare legs. Muted sunlight streamed past the cracks in the bl