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The Truth Beneath

Penulis: Jordana Faye
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2026-01-15 07:54:40

The journal was heavier than it looked.

Not in weight alone, but in intention—as if the pages resisted being opened, as if they remembered every hand that had ever hesitated over them. The leather creaked softly when Autumn shifted it in her lap, the sound too loud in the quiet.

She sat curled in her reading chair, legs tucked beneath her, toes pressed into the famili

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  • First Bite   The Trifold Truth

    The Council of Night had never felt colder.The opera house beneath New Orleans was carved from stone and memory, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, its velvet seats arranged in a perfect crescent around a sunken dais of black marble. Once, music had risen here—human voices, orchestras, applause. Now the air held only breath and judgment.Autumn stood alone at the center.Frost ghosted from her mouth when she exhaled, though the chamber wasn’t cold in any mortal sense. Thirteen seats loomed around her, occupied by figures whose gazes carried weight: witches wrapped in ancestral wards, revenants bound to unfinished oaths, one thing that was no longer alive and never truly dead.She hadn’t brought the Book.It was gone&

  • First Bite   The Sealed Page

    The page smelled like wax and stormlight.Not paper. Not age. Something sharper—ozone and old spells, like the air before a summer strike when the sky hasn’t decided whether to break yet.Autumn set it carefully on the stone altar in her ritual room, hands steady only because she forced them to be. The pendants lay beside it, positioned with deliberate symmetry: the newer flame-bright one to her right, the older dagger-bound pendant to her left. They hummed softly, out of sync, like two hearts that had never learned to beat together.She had bathed before coming here.Saltwater, cold enough to sting. She’d scrubbed until her skin burned, murmuring the old words her grandmother used to insist on during full moons—to clea

  • First Bite   The Lost City

    The map wasn’t a map.It had no borders, no scale, no legend. No tidy promise of here is where you are and here is where you’re going.It was a memory.Etched into the inside cover of Mirabella’s journal, invisible until heat coaxed it into being. Jade had found it by accident, distracted and half-awake, setting her mug of tea down on the corner of the open page. Steam curled. Paper warmed.And something answered.Runes bloomed like embers beneath the parchment, lines threading outward in slow, deliberate arcs. Not drawn so much as remembered into place. Jade had gone still, breath caught halfway to

  • First Bite   The Truth Beneath

    The journal was heavier than it looked.Not in weight alone, but in intention—as if the pages resisted being opened, as if they remembered every hand that had ever hesitated over them. The leather creaked softly when Autumn shifted it in her lap, the sound too loud in the quiet.She sat curled in her reading chair, legs tucked beneath her, toes pressed into the familiar groove in the rug where she always sat when she needed grounding. The fire beside her had burned down to a low, watchful glow, embers pulsing like a living thing. Shadows climbed the walls and retreated again, never settling.Tristan had gone to meet Dominic before dusk, his absence lingering like an unfinished sentence. Jade was in the tower, surrounded by books and wards and her own kind of silence. For once, the house was still—no footsteps

  • First Bite   Back to writing

    Sorry about the hiatus. Needed to take soem time and regroup my thoughts on where this is going to go.

  • First Bite   Jade Rising

    POV: JadeShe was not a witch.Not yet.But she’d started to dream in sigils—spirals that curled behind her eyelids, a taste of salt she couldn’t rinse, the word listen waking as a bruise under her tongue.Jade stood in the ritual circle Autumn had carved weeks ago, arms trembling as she held a copper bowl filled with ash, lavender, and her own blood. Her hoodie was a map of salt streaks; wax had laced the edges of her boots like frost. The room wasn’t cold, but her breath fogged anyway—the way mirrors fog when something tries to remember you.Autumn had taught her the first rule of working with the Veil:

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