Prompt: Grotesque beauty
He propped himself up on one elbow, wanting to rub his eyes but not quite feeling the motivation. The room was neither hot nor cold and the streetlights shone in just enough that all could be seen, thought it was not yet light.
She was writhing beside him, wracked by who-knew-what nightmares for the third time in as many nights. He watched with low-burning pain at her torment and an ever-increasing frustration. He would not be able to wake her, he knew, nor would she speak to him about it the next morning. He would get no sleep that night her knew as he watched her.
Her brow wrinkled, her fingers tore at the sheets and she whispered agonizing mysteries through her teeth, clenched in pain. The mask of her face was strangely convoluted yet smooth, her eyelashes dark and lovely against her skin.