Mountaintops summoned me, but her empty promises only led to endless valleys.
“Please, Atticus,” she breathed into my chest. Her eyes shimmered with effervescent tears that flowed towards my lips. I yearned for her sparkling kisses and ethereal embrace.
“Just one drink won’t hurt,” she told herself.
Last week, she celebrated a year sober.
“Mary Ann Warren. I advise you to acknowledge your sins.” The Magistrate’s nostrils flared at the end of his hawkish nose, his unsightly, flapping jowls now illuminated by the flames of the executioner’s torch. “Repent before God for your heresy,”