How Does Little Deaths End?

Grace Anderson is a striking young lady with a no-nonsense and inimical attitude. She barely smiles or laughs, the feeling of pure happiness has been rare to her. She has acquired so many scars and life has thought her a very valuable lesson about trust. Dean Ryan is a good looking young man with a sanguine personality. He always has a smile on his face and never fails to spread his cheerful spirit. On Grace's first day of college, the two meet in an unusual way when Dean almost runs her over with his car in front of an ice cream stand. Although the two are opposites, a friendship forms between them and as time passes by and they begin to learn a lot about each other, Grace finds herself indeed trusting him. Dean was in love with her. He loved everything about her. Every. Single. Flaw. He loved the way she always bit her lip. He loved the way his name rolled out of her mouth. He loved the way her hand fit in his like they were made for each other. He loved how much she loved ice cream. He loved how passionate she was about poetry. One could say he was obsessed. But love has to have a little bit of obsession to it, right? It wasn't all smiles and roses with both of them but the love they had for one another was reason enough to see past anything. But as every love story has a beginning, so it does an ending.

“True love stories never have endings.” Dean said softly. “Richard Bach.” I nodded. “You taught me that quote the night I kissed you for the first time.” He continued, his fingers weaving through loose hair around my face. “And I held on to that every day since.”

[WARNING: SMUTTY PARANORMAL ROMANCE WITH AN OBSESSIVE, POSSESSIVE MMC. DETAILED SMUT AND VIOLENCE.] “Touch her and die.” That’s the first thing Caelum Veyr says to the world after he claims me. I’m no one. A ghost girl in a rotting slum. Unwanted, forgotten, one breath away from death. Until he appears. Violet-eyed, terrifying and kills the man who tried to take me. He says I’m not human, something called a Null. A freak who makes death unravel just by existing. So he forces me into a blood-marriage. Chains me to his supernatural empire., says I belong to him now. The worst part? I want to belong to him. Even though his touch kills, even though every kiss might break the world, even though the prophecy says I’m the end of everything. Now the Death Courts want me erased. The gods fear what I carry, my power is growing. My name is turning divine. And Caelum? He says he’d die for me. Too bad I’d burn the realms for him first.

While I was nine months pregnant, the apple of my husband’s eye moved into our house. Whenever she saw me, she would make a sad face. My husband was sure that I was flaunting my pregnancy to make her angry. “Rachel is frail, and she can’t get pregnant, yet you’re walking around making her upset?! Do I seriously have to teach you a lesson?!” He ordered the bodyguards to lock me in the attic that had not been in use for a long time and told them not to give me food. I pleaded for mercy and told him that the ultrasound scan showed that the twin babies were too big. I told him that the doctor had claimed that I had to be hospitalized while I waited for my delivery. But he laughed as if he had heard the world’s greatest joke. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as ice. “You’re still three days away from your delivery date! Enough with the pitiful act! Repent while you’re in the attic! This is what you get for making Rachel upset!” The contractions hurt so much that I clenched my fists to the point that my nails broke, but no one unlocked the door to the attic. My piercing screams echoed in the attic for a long time until my whole body was soaked in blood, and one of my babies was stuck between my bloody legs. Three days later, my husband ate his breakfast that was not up to his taste and said, “Have Jane make breakfast for me, then have her apologize to Rachel with a gift. If she’s sincere enough, I’ll send her to the hospital to deliver the babies.” But no one dared go up to the attic because the blood that flowed down from it had already reached the second step of the stairs.

There was a ten-year gap between me and my sister-in-law, but we got along surprisingly well, especially given that we were both in an absurdly rich family. Then, one day, she came to me, bawling and clutching a photo in her hand. "Your brother is cheating on me! He has a family somewhere else! For more than ten years! I'm getting a divorce!" Crying, I showed her a message I got from my husband's mistress. "That bastard Christopher has a mistress! I'm leaving this home!"

At eight months pregnant, my younger sister, Reina York, pushed me down the stairs, causing me to go into early labor.  At the hospital, I called Xavier Morales, but he answered with an impatient scoff. "What do you expect me to do about it? Stop bothering me." Xavier hated me, and he never wanted our child. Our baby girl was born, but despite the doctors doing everything they could, she did not make it. I called Xavier repeatedly, but he coldly hung up on me every time. Then, just moments later, I saw Reina's latest social media post. Xavier was there with her, smiling like he did not have a care in the world. He had completely abandoned me just to be with Reina. Even when our baby was cremated, they were still posting about their love like nothing had happened.  I did not scream, nor did I cry—I just packed my bags and left.