Caveat: Trigger alert and TRAGEDYYYY~ First Firne Fantasy Series Book #1 A tough tie between Xaulfur and his demonic possession bounds Allegra to a rough Fate. Her sanity begins to slip away with her choice enslaved, and while she could not stop the darkness that engulfs her, she grabs a blade. If she can drive it into her nightmare’s cruel heart—regardless that he is her unborn child’s Father—she may find a bit of sour happiness. Yet, the only words that ring in her ears are; “Destiny bonds you with him. Stay, Luaya, for the Child’s breath; otherwise, it would cease.”
View MoreThere is a magnificent building in front of my eyes. It looks like a glass house… a glass castle rather. It has a good number of leeches shooting out from the ground beneath it, trailing against its walls up to the peak.Now I know why it felt familiar. I have seen it most times in my dreams. It usually comes in the manner of crawling warmth, giving me the illusion that I belong with it. However, there always seems to be a lurking feeling of unease whenever I see it.I always knew that the castle has its story, a tale of mystery interweaving the cause of its constantly slamming windows or the rapid banging against its door of abyss. It has no clouds and no grounds, just fog and snow―the very snow that swallows it.I cannot help the chill… the fear. It reels through my veins, mingling with my blood. Then it comes back out in the form of cold breaths and Goosebumps. Even as my vision fades, I still feel the reality of the Castle. I now know part of the cause of its fate, and I am beginn
Birds’ chirpings meet my ears along with winds whispering through the light, flowery curtains, a figure standing tall beside the king-sized bed. I turn to my side to behold the redhead who has a facial appearance that is quite far from normal. I do not know how he knows that I am awake and thinking of the old man all these while. He may have missed the part where the only detail I know about Xaulfur is his half-Asian, half-Australian insane nature, and this person by my side does not look Asian at all. “You are Xaulfur?” I ask while sitting up, my head tilting to check if I can see the rest of the man speaking to me, albeit he moves back to give me a better view; strong hands dipped into the pockets of his dark pair of pants, broad chests snatching a white top and legs lost in matching boots. He looks like a great catch amongst women, especially with the fact that the sides of his shoulder-length hair has a number of tiny zig zag braids that complements the look of his dreamy eyes.
I blacked out for a long time; I can tell that when I feel sunrays casting on my face. It has always been like this whenever I awake on sunny mornings in my room. However, my body weighs as if it is set on warmth and softness. Feels awkward, not like any sensation I have had when I wake in the morning. For a moment, I wonder if I have transitioned to a new world like in some stories that Katelyn read to me. They tell the warm tale of an ill-luck girl who somehow finds herself in a safe haven. Although the tales sometimes ended well, most times it did not. “Does he frequently treat you this way?” My eyes flutter open when I hear the old Japanese’s low-pitched voice, my mind running through thoughts of why he is here—and right beside me. “Get up to eat,” he mutters as he moves across to a table. I crane my neck to watch him while he draws out a chair and leans against it, facing me. He raises a brow and cocks his head as I still stare at him wide-eyed. A few seconds ago, I lost it.
I cannot help but imagine that there are children with the privilege to attend lessons: those who at least have the honour to see daylight every single day, or do not have to live beneath a servant’s status in their Father’s homes. Then, there are also those who are treated as I am, but only a few—or none—receive the kind of hate my own Father gives me. Sometimes, I find myself wishing that I come from a poor home, and perhaps it would have been a sugary kind of story. Other times I wondered if my mother would treat me better if she were alive. I do not know her personally because she died right on the spot of delivery. All I know about her is her subtle beauty; her mixed silky hair, and her caramel skin that glowed with the gold she was arrayed in a portrait as she smiled happily into the lenses, posing with Lord Owen. “I do not want to get married,” I murmur as I stride back to the room while Lord Owen glances back at me and says nothing. My tap did not run; I never washed my han
ALLEGRA There is a woman standing above me. She shows off caramel smooth skin, a shimmering red stud on her nose, and most importantly, a pair of cheerful, hazel eyes. I would think she was I if I did not already know—my mother; the woman I never met. She might have been the only person who truly loved me. When she stoops to my sitting level, her long hair hangs down from her shoulders, almost patting my bruised forehead. I look down with quick reflexes. I always do. The fact that I cannot bear to look at her still haunts me. It became my major weakness and a tool Owen uses to torment me. Katelyn once told me to accept my birth. In her words, ‘Unless you embrace your worst nightmare, it’ll only crave to become your shadow.’ But there certainly is no way I will listen to her. She says so many words at a time that she even forgets their essence. “You have to kill me!” Mother blurts. Her index reaches under my chin before she lifts my face to hers. My eyes burn, my lips twitching do
Trembling gasps for air. Troubled eyes. Clammy Skins. Then the husky voice blurted 'Owen’. A long groan sailed out of Lyn’s mouth as she whammed her head against the propped pillows, the Midwife ranting orders to several Nurses at a time; words that barely made sense to her ears. Her heaving breaths filled the room as the events of her surroundings whizz past her eyes in distortions; Nurses on white dresses and gloves loitering the space, footsteps thumping against the floorboard, and hot air upsetting despite the open windows. Lyn shut her eyes and pressed the back of her head into the doubled pillows as tears made to her ears from the sides of her eyes. She felt the pain gorging below her belly, her chest tightening and her body feeling as if she was being consumed by fire. Yet, she could recall, despite her pain, that there were a million times when she thought it easy to become a mother. She was told the tasty words of motherhood’s sweetness, and though she had a few times
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