A teeny excerpt from my dystopian novel, A Mischief in the Woodwork, which I thought would be fun to share with you today:
Twilight fell like a beast crouching in the grass. I met its horizon-gray eyes out the window, pausing my work in realization. I clutched the garment I was mending closer for a moment, taking comfort in its texture as the gray hour glazed everything outside, silently sapping it of life. It had bled out as if from the subtle slitting of sunshine wrists, which none of us noticed until the body had gone cold. And now night crouched on its precipice, bloody from the catch, ready to pounce lower and walk among us.