Novel & Cerita The Skin Is Blank To The Bones

Why does he have to interfere with everything? As the warmth of the bath seeped through her, Hannah's gaze drifted down to her arm and she paused, caught sight of how pale her skin looked in the soft bathroom light. She raised her hand, turning it slowly as knit brows creased her face when she seemed to see the faint lines of veins beneath the surface, tracing up from her wrist to her elbow like a web. She had always been quite fair-skinned, this was almost. translucent. "What…what is this?" she whispered, tracing her fingers over the skin chilled through by the heat of the water. Is this…normal? She recalled Hadzen's skin, pale like hers, yet this was different, unnatural.

Her eyes looked out of window aimlessly. She had lose a lot of weight in the past week and her skin was pale as if there was no blood left in her body. Damien sucked up a ball of air before standing beside her. Celestine did not bother to turn and look who the intruder was because she already knew who it was. That familiar cologne and air belongs to only one person. Damien ruffled her hair dotingly. Celestine winced internally and suppressed her moan of agony. "Sorry little one." Damien held regret and guilt in his voice.

The crone replied. Marie turned her attention back to Seb and her heart dropped. Seb wasn't howling anymore but growling. His eyes were beaming a bright yellow and had doubled in size. His fingernails had changed into claws and he began using them to rip off large chucks of skin off his chest. Beneath the skin was black thick fur like hair. It was the color of the night sky and so shiny it looked wet. Seb dropped to his knees withering in pain when his bones began to snap and pop at unnatural angles.

He watched carefully as Bryony’s eyes lost their starlight glimmer and the bones of her face seemed to press against her skin. “Ah, you almost forgot us,” the bones whispered to Rikki-Tikki, “but indeed, here we are. We are death and fragility and decay and we lurk ever so close to the surface. How cunning we are! We ride around inside of Bryony’s skin and we are as intertwined with her as murder. There is no escape.”

"Luna-" Lacys familiar voice fills the empty room. "Oh my god!" She gasps. I stare at the mirror in utter disgust, anger brewing inside of me as I poke at my flesh. The bruises are long gone, but the weight I'd lost in the past week has taken a huge toll on my body. My skin is paler than usual, far more bones poking through than ever before. Dark circles rim my eyes, thoroughly making me a monstrous sight.

A month after my remains were discarded, an old woman found my bones. When the police rushed to the scene, they were shocked by what they saw. The forensic expert, Dr. John had a grim expression as he examined the scene. Then, he said solemnly, "The victim appears to be a female between the ages of 15 and 20. She seemed to have died about a month ago. "The bones here are from the skull and legs, so this might be one of the several crime scenes. The bones have been subjected to intense trauma, and the whitened bones were not naturally decomposed. Rather, the killer likely used a small knife to strip the flesh.

If only I could go back to that time, living carefree. My father's mind flashed back to the image of me wrapped in a blanket. His daughter never got 100 dollars to buy that proper outfit, even till her death. In less than a year, my parents' health deteriorated completely. They sat in front of my grave every day, crying. "Grace, we really regret it. Can you come back to us?" "I will buy you many beautiful clothes, Grace. Whatever you want, it'll be yours." But it was already too late.

Slowly I stood from the bed, and approached the mirror. My eyes widened a bit as I tried to accept the reflection on the mirror. If I was another, I would claim it was never me. I was lanky, like drained of life and vitality. My skin was turning... dry, pale, thin, and my bones were slowly becoming visible. I moved my trembling fingers over my skin, trying to feel myself. One touch, and I already quivered at the feeling.

She doesn't know that my body has been honed into a slender, razor-sharp weapon. I reach into my discarded, mud-caked survival kit and pull out a bone-handled skinning needle. With rapid, flawless movements, I slice the side seams of the silver tunic, restructuring the shoulders and tightening the lower back panel until the metallic fabric clings to my torso like a second skin. The silver weave catches the torchlight, emphasizing the lean, powerful contours of my chest and the clean line of my collarbones, sharp as hunting blades.

"Greta spent three hours simmering those bones. You need the collagen. You need the calories." I lifted the spoon, my hand trembling just enough to splash a drop of broth onto the white tablecloth. I looked like a ghost of my former self. My skin, once glowing from the use of expensive moisturizers and a happy life, was now parchment-thin, stretched tight over a framework of sharp bones. My wrists looked like brittle twigs, ready to snap at any moment. "I'm trying," I whispered. The spoon clattered against the bowl.