Writing

The Room Number 4

 

“She can’t be Roohi!” Shekhar screamed “She is not my Roohi.” His screams and anguish went unheard in the God forsaken secluded warehouse. Another shrill cry of a child stirred the beast in him, he ran frantically towards the sound. His bloodshot eyes filled with rage adapted through his thin silver frame to the dark disgusting room barely lit by street lights filtering in through broken window panes, and searched the scattered wooden boxes.
#TheSpellbinders believe words can weave magic. We joined forces to weave a tale that will leave you wanting for more. Come join us in this Quest.

Ankita begins the tale over at her blog, click here and read on to know what happens.

 

Cloud 1

 

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Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

Author: Bhavya

Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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