22 October 2012
The black ink trailed down the side of his face, in words I couldn't quite make out. I shuddered at the sight of his black pupils, the squint of his eyes. His hair was tall and greasy, bright red in colour. The sides shaven down, with many tufts. I stared at his companions the tall one with an eye patch dressed in black, and the blonde one with hair like straw. Still the black writing scarred their faces. That among rough scars from knifes and blades. Who where these people? What was this hell?
Inkheart • Opuss № I