Lillith Williams Descriptive Writing

The paintings seemed to sneer at me. This particular painting though - with her sunken eyes - those of a fish, blurry and lifeless. Her wispy hair were like of spider webs, tangled and a mess. Her cadaverous skin was like a corpse. Her oil-painted mouth, was what was sneering at me. Whoever this painter was, either did not very much like this particular girl to paint, or did a fine job at capturing her image. Lilith Williams, 1872 to 1883. The awfully neat writing under the picture stated. I tore my eyes away from the haunting picture, and set my hands to balance myself on the handles of the stairs - unneccessarily chary person I am - as if waiting for these stairs to collapse on itself. It was expected of a decrepit house, surely from

I shifted it's weight uncomfortably, and wiped my hands off hastefully on my sleeves; the staircase was layered with a blanket of dust. I wrapped my fingers around the camera, bringing it up to my eyes to snap pictures of the room. The camera, slipped out of my grasp, and fell loosely around my neck, before I could press on a button. I jumped back, and glanced around, paranoid. My heart beat had accelerate, to the point where I could pass for a hummingbird. Shaking off my state of fear, I pressed my palm against a dusty door, exploring the other rooms. Immeditately, I was greeted by air, thickly coated in dust and time, and a smell I couldn't quite tell. Fanning the dust from my face, I stumbled around blindly, like a drunkard, trying to find a chair. My fingers did not quite brush against any furniture, but rather something tenuos - like wispy hair. Jumping back, I was suddenly in a state of irresolute, blinking furiously. Regaining my eyesight, I caught sight of a girl, with wispy black hair that hung like threads, over her cadaverous face. While her hair hung over her face like a curtain, it did not hide her eyes - eyes that were glassy, and her eyelids stitched open. Red veins trailed her pupils, pupils that were