TheRavenFactory

Ophelia Raven slipped on her favourite shoes, a pair of expensive black stilettos with shiny silver buckles. She glanced in the mirror next to her antique hand carved desk and gave an appreciative nod, just as her mobile rang. Flicking her dyed black hair off her face, she sighed and glared at the name on the screen and already knew what her best friend Phoenix would be saying. Traffic was always heavy in Melbourne but Phoenix never seemed to grasp the simple fact that she was always late and she needed to leave earlier to get anywhere on time. She could be a bit irritating sometimes, but Phoenix was sweet and lovable anyway. She was also mod

In the town called Grotesque, The leper man crawls along the ground. His bleeding stumps, smeared with mud attempt to embrace you. In the town called Grotesque, cobwebs shine in the light of the full moon. Silhouettes glide silently through the empty cobbled streets. In the town called Grotesque, no children play in the streets. There is no laughter, no happiness. Corpses littering the desecrated streets are the only indication of this lost love. In the town called Grotesque, a curled figure lays on your doorstep dressed in rags. Bony fingers curl around your ankle a distorted face pleading for mercy. In the town called G

Samantha washed her hands, pulled her hair out of a bun, grabbed her time book and signed off on her Tuesday shift. She pushed a few keys on her phone, and glanced at the time on the computer screen. It was 10:31 am, the end of her shift at the local butchers. ‘See you guys on Wednesday, okay? Bye!’ she called to her boss, Frank, and her colleague, Steve. Her phone buzzed, a message from her closest friend and workmate Casey. ‘hurry up! ur l8, i’m waiting 4 u @ the bakery across the road’. It was 10:33 when she walked out. *** Lisa grabbed her handbag and her car keys and within a few minutes was walking into the si

The blade softly caresses her neck, and finally pierces the elegant pale skin. A line of crimson flows, slowly, pooling around, a perfect circle around her. He watches her, hearing her final breaths, the silver dagger glinting dangerously in the moonlight, and his heart beats faster, and faster. For a brief moment his soul torments, his hand flinches, but all emotion leaves him, and he draws the blade into the air. The minutes pass, it seems like only moments he is there, but his work is done. He leaves his memento, carefully carving his initials, tiny letters pressed into the soft skin of her cheek. He slumps against the wall,

Black corset, tied as tight as can be. Purple silk dress, sweeping across the ground. Daring neckline, designed to draw attention. White gloves, emphasising slender wrists. Peacock’s feather, swirling from her mask. Painted lips, pouting at the mirror. She is ready to leave, but her carriage has yet to arrive. Nervously she waits, perched upon the wooden chair. When she looks up she knows the painting will be staring down at her, disapproving as always. It gives her nightmares, makes her remember that cold lonely night. Fatal gunshots, her father’s blood staining the powdery snow. She remembers it so w

Her elegant red nails click against the stone. She faces away from you, Long lashes fluttering in the wind. The glittering mauve sunset slips into obscurity over the patterned waves. Much of her face is concealed by auburn ringlets but already she is alluring. You whisper her name to the breeze but hear no reply. You crawl closer, closer unable to draw your eyes away. A high pitched wail spins through the breeze accompanied by the sound of quietly plucked strings. The wails of forgotten souls reside in your ears but to your peril, you ignore them. Her curls whip off her face baring her fangs and rotting flesh. Her shr

The ballerina stands alone at the bar. She pirouettes over and over but she is never good enough. She spins and twirls, it is magical to watch, but no one sees her. She is the shadow, the unwanted resilience, the saddest story of them all. She stretches her leg towards the sky but it’s never high enough. Her spirit is dying, fatigued from hate and rejection.   Every night she stands under the dim light and wishes with all her heart for love. She sits alone in the musty room and weeps for all that is lost. The following night the moon is but a silver crescent and as she completes her final bow, she hears a noise.

The best of you bled for the worst in me see I was breast fed hate when the devil gave birth to me so i slept in a hollow cave in fear of what I'd do to you until i found that I was brighter in the shadows of what you could do but the temptress had blandished my attempts to be freed with the promises of happiness for as long as i would bleed now my skin bears a scar from a mouthful of bone it was the first and last time i tasted blood of my own this decision brought light upon my silhouetted form and the cold of my heart began to feel warm