Novel & Cerita Scream Aesthetic

"I wrote this. I used the pencil. This was supposed to be real!" The little girl with the blue balloon giggled. The sound was like silver bells, but it made my skin crawl. She skipped through the chocolate-mud, her white dress staying perfectly clean. "The Shareholders love 'Realism,' Kaima," she said, popping a small chocolate bubble with her toe. "But they don't like the *uncomfortable* parts of realism. They want the 'Aesthetic' of struggle, but with the comfort of a dessert. It's called 'Gourmet Survival.' It's trending on the Lunar Colonies right now."

Never let dogs smell fear! The hungry look on these men’s faces as their eyes run over my practically naked body makes it obvious that they smell my fear, and they fucking love it. I look around the room, thinking that I’ve never seen so much leather, facial hair, and tattoos in such a small space. I try to find a friendly face, but they’re all looking at me like they want to bend me over the nearest table and fuck the living hell out of me.

Men want to avoid talking about other women because obviously, they are guilty. “Nah, Brent Damien. Don't ever lie to me. Women are flocking at you!" I rolled my eyes and waited for his reaction. “Where did you get that? Did you stalk me?” He creased his brows but a hint of a smile didn't go unnoticed. I could see that he was back to being calm, but my eyes wandered to his strong arms and well-toned muscle. His hair was a bit messy but it added to his appeal. He wore an aviator that made him more attractive. Smokin’ hot!

I screamed. He was taken aback upon seeing me with no control. Mad. F*cking mad. Out of my sanity. I stepped forward as he stepped back. “You... you f*cking, Silva. You f*cking call me a f*cking bitch! I am no slut, nor a wh*re! I am just a bad f*cking bitch who beats men *sses and not f*cking and sucking and riding their f*cking d*cks!” I shout and threw the glass of wine towards him. The glass shattered as his blood drops. The broken glass cut his arms.

I scream. He’s across the room in two strides. One gloved hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sound, the other pinning my wrists above my head. The duffel drops to the floor with a heavy thud. I thrash, naked, wet, terrified, but he’s solid muscle, immovable, his body heat radiating against my bare skin. He smells like rain-soaked leather and something warm under that makes my traitor brain think safe when nothing about this is safe.

Zara whisper back. Her doppelganger smiled at her and it was scaring her. Just as the story goes when she was a child, hair the colour of night, deep red eyes no different than blood with red rose lips. Her skin was like hers, white but hers look more like a corpse than alive yet her presence was somehow comforting. Akhillar “I feel your pain. You suffer too much.” Zara shook her head. “Not enough to call out to you.” “Tis’ what you tell yourself but you know it’s not true.”