The luminescent green dots that blanket their exposed skin make them look like celestial beings. He inhales and all he detects is her irrepressible scent and ash. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. She’s clawing clandestinely at his skin, but the urgency to her actions is pointless. She soon gives up.

A delicate touch brands his arm. A fingernail slides across his skin with gentle precision which can only be defined as her touch. She traces characters onto the surface of his limb and he can’t help but believe that she writes this as a sentimental notion. And, as a farewell.

A/N: Despite exam pressure and all that terrible stuff I'm in the middle of writing. This is an entry for The Sky Is The Limit || Writing Contest (Round 3: March Madness)

Prompt used: “Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.”

– Markus Zusak, The Book Thief