WIP Meme

I'm doing this in hopes I'll actually finish one or more at some point. In fact, if you have any preferences for which I should focus on, feel free to poke me until I finish it.

Sickeningly, Clem’s face shrank, tightened, morphing from the loose green skin of Spike’s poker buddy into the tight tan features of the youngest Summers girl.

I grabbed the bench for support, only to find the once solidly attached arm pulled off in my suddenly powerful grip.

The smallest doll was no larger than her smallest fingernail, and fit perfectly inside a hollowed out and carved slightly larger doll, and so on until there was a doll the size of her hand with five smaller dolls inside.

They did not believe in psychic phenomena, and didn’t approve of Gwen “scamming people”, as her father brusquely put it.

There was nothing to do but listen; even if she’d ever been invited into that historic home, interrupting Enid Dainton would have been the social kiss of death.

Her nose was all stuffed up and with her face buried in the duvet, she couldn’t breathe at all.

“Fine, if that’s how you see it, I’ll get a life, and write about that.”

Faith had finally perfected the art of watching the dance floor without seeming to be watching the dance floor.

Three squares a day, if you considered protein mush a square meal.

While they hid in the bowels of the ship, cowering together to ward of nightmares of drifting, of smothering, Mal stood before the windows in the galley, staring out at the blackness.

"All she wants to do is dress you in black and make you breath funny.”