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Immortal Bloodline

A streak of sunlight peeping through the slightly drawn curtain hits her face, waking her up slowly. She sits up and stretches her arms while giving out a yawn. She turns toward the curtain. Her eyes seem to catch a vision of something laid next to her. She pauses to look and finds a long stemmed red rose. She picks it up and gives a short cry, for she just pricked herself with a lone thorn that must have been missed when it was sheared. Droplets of red blood oozes out of her finger, falling into the white satin pillow, the red blood spreading like wildfire. She shivers as reality sets in.

--M.R. CLARK



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