Shadows (Page 102)

Ilsa J. Bick
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Cindi was suddenly very afraid, but she had to know. “What’s it feel like?”

His eyes were terrible: weary and haunted and far back in his skull. The hollows were as purple and pewter gray as thick clouds gathering for a storm. Looking into Tom’s ravaged eyes was like trying to stare directly into the sun for too long: something so bright and horrible it could burn you blind.

“Black,” Tom said. “It feels black.”

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