Mc Blood-stained の小説・ストーリー

“That’s a six-hundred-dollar shirt! You have to make sure that stain gets out. I can’t afford someone cleaning that!” Fuck. Six hundred dollars? Even double and triple tabs wouldn’t cover it. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I turn around to the table, which now looks similar to a murder scene. I throw the napkins on the table to soak up what I can, almost tripping over one of Madden’s friends in my haste to get to his bloody shirt. The stain is huge—a dark, spreading purple blotch across his crisp shirt. Shit! “That’s not going to work,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Can I clean this somewhere?”

Michael crouched down, his attention shifting to the ground as he brushed aside leaves and dirt, examining everything carefully without rushing, his silence stretching long enough to make my nerves tighten. “Here,” I said again, pointing toward a patch of grass a few steps away. We moved closer, and I could see it clearly now, the dark stains of blood that hadn’t fully faded, more than one. Michael reached out, touching the ground lightly as his expression shifted, becoming more serious with each second. “This isn’t normal,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What do you see?” I asked, my voice quieter now. He straightened slowly, turning to face me.

The single word was a hoarse scrape. Jensen held out his hand. Clutched in it, protected from the worst of the mud by his grip, was a scrap of fabric. Pale blue flannel. Torn. And unmistakably stained with dark, rust-brown patches that even the relentless rain hadn’t fully washed away. *Blood.*

"Fifteen minutes later, Emberly turned a very serious face." The Complete Blood Count is too high. Looks like an inflammation or an infection. "Emberly thought of Mango's body and asked, ""Didn't you control yourselves last night?""" "Emberly 's question made Nathaniel feel very awkward. However, for the sake of Mango's body, he still nodded his head." Mango's body is severely injured. It's best to control yourself when having intercourse. I'll set up a drip for her then we'll see what happens next.

My heart sank and my breathing got stumped. My hands sweeped over it and my orbs widened in horror. Blood. It spread rapidly round the area, tainting my gown and casting a sinister hue of red upon my gown. The liquid cascaded onto the beach sands, imprinting its crimson stains upon the grains. My heartbeat accelerated with each passing moment, intensified by another wave of excruciating pain. This time, the anguish centered right above my left breast. Similar to its bloody counterpart, it surged swiftly, tainting my gown with its scarlet red stains.

Miqella wasted no time; his hands burst open the door. And I choked back the tears that sprung in my eyes as the overwhelming smell of blood shot from the open passageway. Crimson covered the walls, seeping down in fresh splatters. So fresh that it hadn’t coagulated at all, plopping in wet puddles from the ceiling as if it was a leak instead of blood. In the center of the room, I could make out half of a body. Mangled and twisted, their chest cavity had been ripped clean open.

Red, the color of violence, rage, war, blood, the hue that defines passion, love, tenderness, lust astonished but sustains Brian McCoy’s personality splendidly, although I grant him more like a grey or black color guy, just like his disguises and cold behavior he carries all his life.

It wasn't a food stain. It was blood. Thick, dark, dried drops of blood, splattered across the cuffs of his trousers in a large frantic pattern.

Mia replies weakly. The man gently helps the girl to sit on the edge of the bed, just hugging her in his arms, when suddenly the girl coughs violently. She coughs continuously until his white shirt is stained with fresh blood. Mia and Malcolm's faces both change color, she quickly covers her mouth with her hand, then brings it out again, the hand is so red that she looks like she doesn't know how to show her face for a moment. "Jack, Jack, hurry up and call Jack in here" - Malcolm is extremely panicked, and he calls out in an urgent voice.

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'