《My Soul Mate Is Death (A Paranormal Romance)》BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

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HELLO DEAR FRIENDS

First of all, thank you for everyone who has taken the time to read and finish My Soul Mate Is Death. We are almost at 1.5k reads and although that is not a lot by any means, it's way more than I ever thought possible.

I am currently working on the finishing touches to the outline of BOOK 2: I Gave Flowers to The Devil, but decided I would post a short Sneak Peek on here!

I hope you enjoy it ;)

Anne-Eli

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"So, what are you here for?" the nurse eyes me up and down, taking note of the fact that I am clearly not a part of the medical personnel. "Community service?"

She leads me down a narrow hallway of wooden doors and beige carpets. The walls are painted an odd shade of grey with green undertones and the smell of dust and humidity hangs in the air like a blanket of doom. It's as though the place was designed for people to die in it.

"An internship, actually," I say, looking absentmindedly at my surroundings. It could use a fresh coat of paint. Something in the shades of yellow, maybe? A happy colour. One that would remind these people that this isn't the end after all. That there is still something left to look forward to. That after living their entire hard life, this is a chance at peace. A new beginning. A last beginning, perhaps, but a new one nonetheless.

She stops abruptly and I nearly collide with her back. "Sorry," I squeak.

"An internship?" she looks down at her clipboard, her eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes. Is that," I look at her puzzled expression, becoming confused myself. "Surprising?"

She starts walking again and I follow, keeping a safe distance between us in case she decides to stop again.

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"This is a retirement home specializing in the elderly with Dementia. We don't usually get students," she replies matter-of-factly. "What do you study in?"

"Social work," I look down at the carpet, a few drops of dried blood nestled in the fibers catching my attention. "This is my fourth year."

I omit the part where my first choice was the Juvenile Center and not the retirement home. I want to work with young delinquents, to help stir them on the right path and work on their problems. Unfortunately, the local one was closed to interns for the year and this was the only place where they had an opening.

She nods her head, accepting my answer.

"Well, seeing who you've been paired with, prepare to have your hands full," she says as though there is some kind of hidden irony I'm not privy to.

"That's fine," I say, shrugging. "I'm sure I can handle it," I add with a tight smile.

My years volunteering at the homeless shelter have taught me one thing. It's that the ones who need help the most are usually the ones who are hardest to give it to. Lucky for them, I'm not a quitter.

"Here we are," she says, stopping in front of one of the numerous rooms. She hands me the file on her clipboard. "Please return this to me once you're done. And don't forget to sign your name on the visitor sheet," she adds, tapping on a sheet of paper hung on the wall beside the door.

When she is out of view, I knock three times.

But not before noticing the single name engraved on a metal plate above the doorknob.

Margaret.

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