After long awaited days of misery, I finally got a letter which I will be worshipping for the rest of my life. It was his letter. He the one who I pray, he the one whose thoughts in my mind lay, he the one who brings me sun and rain. I have alot of these poems in my diary so let's have a look maybe?
A village far away from civilised society prospered peacefully, until one of the residents, Ryan, woke up with an odd feeling. The full moon had risen the night prior. While it seemed like a natural full moon, that thought would change soon enough. When one of the residents turned up dead with bite marks in her neck, the town's Mayor, Eugene, suspected the worst. There was a great possibility Werewolves had emerged within the village. Everyone had one question on their minds: Which side will be victorious and take over the village?
The day before Halloween was supposed to be boring, but rather than boring and interesting; the day became annoying for the eighteen year old Allen Brooks who was taken to graveyard against his will by his friends, before the midnight just for the stupid games, and to look around the graveyard decorated in Halloween's theme. Later the night became interesting for the teens except for Allen, when two of the members of the group suggested to perform a small ritual as part of their games which so, happened to require few drops of blood by someone's hand. Allen was horrified when he was put forward to sacrifice few drops of blood out of his palm. Would the ritual work? Will they regret performing this ritual? That's all Allen could ever think of after sacrificing his blood droplets for that supposed to be innocent ritual till the midnight when everything changes from calm to storm. “You know very well about my type. Type to make everyone cry. Type to make everyone scream in pain when I’ll thrust out their spines. Type to make everyone beg on their knees with their blood sliding down from their eyes. Type to make everyone cry out their last goodbyes. Type to shorten their lives because it would be their time to die. And my type; deleterious Halloween is called the ‘Bloody Halloween’ for the innocent night.” - Circe