|Casey E. Lizabeth|
Hiya! :D I'm Casey. I'm writing a book! In fact, The Script of the Holy Dead is a poem/song from inside that book. I'm not going to tell you the name, yet. Not until it's published on Amazon. If you're a friend of mine by the time it is, I can send you a PDF (either kindle version or regular, and yes, there's a difference) of it for free. Now don't be rushing to be my best friend :P, I'm not even confident it's good.
Uhhh...here's some stuff.
My favorite book genre: Fantasy/Medieval, Romance, Sci-Fi...FICTION.
My favorite music genre: Hardcore Rock, Soft Rock, (Some) Pop, Country, anything by The Offspring and Sick Puppies.
Favorite TV shows: Witchblade, Dollhouse, Stargate SG:1, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, The Guild, Dragon Age: Redemption, Psych, Futurama, Family Guy, South Park, The IT Crowd, etc.
Favorite books: Thirst, Twilight Saga (I like to laugh at stupidity), Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, Gifted series, Maximum Ride, Joan of Arc.
My favorite positive answer: Yerp!
My favorite negative answer: Noooope.
My opinion on the problems in the Middle East: Bring our soldiers home! My uncle's in the loony bin for PTSD because of it!
People I fangirl over: Fenris, Conchobar, Alistair, Zevran, Spike, Isabela, Merill, Leliana, Aveline, any goofy boy with a muscle-less pale physique of a nerd.
The Life of Jenny Cinder
Episode One: Pilot 1/3
One does not stop being afraid of the dark. They just learn not to care about what lurks in the shadows.
Casey E. Lizabeth
"You do not want me dead!"
"Quite the contrary, I've been dreaming about your death for years."
Wind the clocks back five years. It would be November 1st, 2015. One A.M. Jenny Cinder was lying in bed, eyes wide open. Her birthday was the following day.
Her sixteenth birthday. No one would be saying congratulations, as expected. You would think a teenager (or any person, really) would be sad, depressed, and disappointed. But Jenny was unmoved.
She did not fall asleep that night, as she had not for six nights prior. The term "You look like shit" was repeated so often it was as if the phrase was coined for her.
Later in the morning, around five o' clock, Jenny forced herself to get out of bed and invite whatever the day had in store for her.
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