Edited by Antilla, 28 November 2009 - 12:44 PM.
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Posted 22 March 2009 - 01:19 PM
Ancient starch caused the lace to crackle as she swam through the gown’s yellowed fabric. Oksana felt like a free diver, skin to satin, pushing for the surface; controlling her ascent to stave off the bends. Slow. Steady. Allow yourself to depressurize gradually, not like the last panicky rookie.
Love this. I especially love it for the "last panicky rookie" part, considering it's a used wedding gown. Nice touch.
And. "so buried alive". really now. Quite making me hate you so much.