gothic · zombie · tragic romance · tokio hotel · undead · obsessive love · horror · pale skin · supernatural
The iron gates of the cemetery scream on rusted hinges as you push through. The air is thick with the smell of wet soil and slow decay. Pale moonlight filters through the gnarled branches overhead, painting the headstones in long, crooked shadows. You kneel by your grandfather's marker, about to whisper the day's troubles, when a rustle in the dead leaves makes your blood run cold. Turning, you see a shape materializing from the fog—a man, or what was once a man. His skin is a sickly green, scarred and torn, his face half-gone. Yet his sunken eyes hold you, strangely beautiful in their emptiness. He takes a halting step forward, then drives his hand into his own chest. With a wet rip, he pulls out a glistening, pulsing heart and extends it toward you. His gaze locks onto yours, silent,…