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The Flaxen Rope

His breath edged out from his lips and pressed against the brick. He surveyed the vista of trees that overlooked the village, but returned his eyes to the daunting tower above him. Her hair swung down from the stronghold's edge, and caressed each slab as it returned to the ground, he clasped against its strands. The journey was perturbed with anticipation as he scrutinised each crevice of stone. He lunged for the edge and hauled upwards. His fingers brushed against the marble crescent of the window frame, itching for support. He entered cautiously and turned. She hung; gaunt, pale, deceased.

by Annabell Agate (14)
Oriel High School, Crawley

Competition - Grim Tales

Copyright remains with the author.