Prick Your Finger On The Spindle

The darkness crept closer and closer, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. She fought against the shadow demons that brushed against her, whimpering and whining as her screams died down. Suddenly a huge demon leapt out of the shadows, sharp teeth easily slicing into the top of her left shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the wound, and Finch's eyes popped open wide, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her legs buckled under her, form dropping to the ground with a solid flood. Jaws were still open, a look of horror on her face as she slipped into haunted dreams. Blood still flowed from her open wound, but not another sound was uttered from the young woman. All she knew was darkness and fear. Her breath were ragged at they left her mouth. She wasn't dead, no. Maybe throwing up had saved her. Maybe she wasn't given enough. But Finch was out cold, death would be too sweet to her haunted mind.