You’re Creeping Me Out
I don’t know how much of this will stay when I edit this after NaNo, but it is words and they count, so who cares.
One of my main characters is meant to be a creeper. He has been watching the female lead for two years through windows etc. and under heavy glamours. He obviously is obsessed (another character points this out just prior to the following snippet, and tells Ciar what he really should do… and provides visual aides) and has plenty of free time on his hands.
It is meant to be disturbing, and I think I succeeded, considering I really wanted to get out of his POV and felt like I needed to take a shower afterwards.
Anyway, feel the creepy.
He raised a hand towards the window, and on the other side of the glass the catch began to turn. Once that was unlocked all it would take to open it was a push; the window opened inward, allowing both the night and Ciar to enter without even a sound. The rug was soft under his bare feet as he crossed the floor to the bed; had there been any sounds of movement it would have muffled them, but he was light as air.
He stopped short of the edge of the bed, taking in the sight of what lay there. Still asleep, Aurora lay on her back. Her hair was arranged around her hair like a halo, and Ciar found himself wishing that it was not dark. The moments before she blew out the lights were always the best: the candlelight gave a touch of warmth to her fair skin and made her hair look like burnished gold.
If she was sun, moon and stars to her father, in Ciar’s eyes she outshone them all - he truly did see her in hyperbole, in all the words the poets would use, and without irony. He meant what he thought and never stopped to consider otherwise.
This was the closest he had ever got to her. He was close enough now to see the way her lip curved. The length of her eyelashes. The way her chest rose and fell as she breathed.
She looked so peaceful, just lying there, asleep, that he could have stayed and watched her until the night started to lighten and become dawn. But that was not what he had come here for - he was not going to watch any more. Although the temptation was strong to touch her cheeks, trace the outline of her lips, he forced his hand to move upwards. Past her nose, past her eyes, until it hovered just above the centre of her forehead.
Mirrored from Catherine-Haines.com.