Scribble: I've been sick, and someone's been sweet.

      With a heartfelt sigh, she excitedly danced upon the hardwood floors, her stiff, bare toes still aching from their temporary disuse. A radiant smile beaming upon her tired, gentle face, she held the worn and weathered box to her heart, twirling and stepping on air in excitement. The faint ghost of a cough tickled her swollen throat, but the dancer still smiled, unkempt hair flowing freely with each graceful movement.
      I'm the luckiest girl in the world, she thought, looking down at the familiar curls and lines written as a name. Thank you, she whispered in her heart, another sigh slipping past her lips, as thoughts of a warm bed and a familiar pair of arms teased her into another twirl. Closing her eyes, the dancer could only see the bright blue eyes so familiar to her heart, as her cheek instinctively nuzzled rough cardboard flaps, feeling only the softest of skin.
      The sound of a gentle ring tugged at her ear, as the lithe dancer glided, without so much as a stumble, over to the flashing, chirping phone. Still holding the box to her heart, she let slip a giggle, a loose sleeve sliding down her arm.
      "Feeling any better, love?" cooed a gentle voice, tickling her ear with sweetness.
      "I am now," came the raspy whisper, followed by another trickle of laughter. "Thank you..."

Scribble: Undead + Robot = this?

      Dangling between spindly, clanking fingers, the strange artifact dangled precariously from its chain, little patches of metal gleaming through the rusted links. Eyes little more than glowing green dots in pools of darkness, the skeletal figure leaned in closer to investigate, placing a free arm against bended knees for balance.
      Cold, gray flesh twisting into a contemplative frown, the detective gradually raised another metal hand, its exposed metal sinews and wires coated in a fine blanket of dust. With delicate precision, a sharp fingertip gently tapped on the ornate brass casing, sending little particles of rust into the air.
      Spinning in the air, the artifact remained otherwise static, casting little particles of rust into the air. Moments passed before, quite suddenly, the side of the strange pendant creaked open, as dust from another time swirled into the ancient air. Startled from his stillness, the detective quickly regained his balance, bringing the exposed surface closer to investigate.
      A quiet tick echoed throughout the catacombs, as the hands of the watch shifted ever so slightly, only to grow still once more. With a frown, the mechanical figure closed the creaking door, clenching the device gently in one hand.
      "I have seen this before..." he began, in a voice choked with dust and gravel. "It once . . . was mine..."

Scribble: Things I could not write down at the time.

      There came a pounding at the door, as those gathered within braced themselves for what was to come. As the door finally gave way, bursting from it hinges, the survivors huddled together behind the overturned tables. Only a brave few stood, some quivering, others still, their eyes locked on the shadow outside.
      He entered, a lumbering beast of a man, his pale skin wrought with ink and steel barbs. Prepared to lash out, his cold, grey eyes fell on the faces staring at him.
      A single pair of amber eyes awaited him. There, standing between broad-shouldered men, she stood, her youthful face grim and fierce, a small hare ready to strike at the falcon overhead.
      Staggering back, the beast could not look away from her defiant glare. Though all others possessed such strength to be a challenge, only this small creature forced the cudgel to fall from his hand, as a lone thought filled his mind:
      Is this . . . fear?

Scribble: What? I'm feeling romantic while listening to 8-bit music.

      A quiet sigh fluttered in the air, carried aloft by butterfly wings. As azure eyes followed it drift along the breeze, the girl felt the memory of warm, soft skin gently caress her cheek. Without a thought, her own slender fingertips graced the blushing skin, as her eyes slipped beneath their lids.
      Even after so long, she thought, a gentle breeze tousling long, raven locks as it passed, it still feels like only a moment ago...
      So entranced, only the touch of soft, familiar lips could force her eyes open, pressing against her uncovered cheek. Startled, she turned in fright, only to be calmed at the mischievous smile and pair of emerald eyes awaiting her.
      "Sorry," came the sweet melody, as slender arms found new ways to intertwine, "I couldn't resist..."

Scribble: Trying to pull nothing out of something.

      She slides past the counter, disappearing into the kitchen once more. Her hair seems to follow her a few paces behind; her face is just a made-up mask, stolen from a dime store Pierrot.
      A door opens, another customer slides into the bar. She emerges once more, hair barely moving, face barely moving, holding a basket of fresh wings so close that the oil's gotta burn. Not a flinch, though.
      Stepping back into the twilight of swinging lamps and burnt-out bulbs, she smiles, as shadows steal away the thick lines of compound and eye shadow, leaving her resplendent. Her hair is absolutely perfect, raven locks that never stray no matter how many times she turns her head to take an order.
      Now who is the fool, of course.