Hoader Spac

This is a human hotel. Every morning is new. Joy, stress, sadness, moment awareness are unexpected guests... welcome and enjoy everyone. Respect every guest. Dark thoughts, shame and evil smiles invite you to the threshold. Give thanks to all who come, for all have been sent as guides from without.

The sky turned red, and meteors fell. Screams and explosions everywhere. For an unknown reason, people started having magic abilities.. Most were happy, but it didn't last long. Soon came the undead. To survive, kill, or be killed. Her mom disappeared. She was betrayed by her ex-fiance' and killed by her step-sister. Now she's back a year before the apocalypse, equip with magical space, this time will it be the same? Warning: mature scenes, gore & violence. Hi readers, I'm an amateur author. Please be lenient with me. This is my first novel, so please allow me to grow. Suggestions will be appreciated. Thanks!!! This story, characters, and places are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people, places, and events is purely coincidental. Would you like to buy me a cup of coffee? https://ko-fi.com/oppo_red pictures source: https://pixabay.com/ https://www.canva.com/

Eurie Sanchez is just a simple high school student. Her future is already planned: go to college, find a good job, and reclaim her father's house. But, everything changes when one day a man from another universe, named Kaizer Dragunflare, barged in to her play, sliced arms, and saved her to some possessed kidnappers. Her world swirls and goes back to zero as she learns that she is not the orphan girl she thought she was. She is actually a Zaenoth lost girl, from the clan of Cezanne who can freeze things, her apartment, and even the space and time. In a blink of an eye, she travels through worlds as she tries to unravel the past of her lost self... the past of the little Elliot Cezanne, the last space bender.

I was a writer. I rented a place in the countryside to seek inspiration. The villagers said it was a haunted house. Twenty years ago, a mad woman murdered her daughter by piercing a needle into her skull! I did not believe it, but I got a call from a little girl that night. She said it was 2002, and her mother was trying to kill her!

Rafaella's life started to be disrupted by a stalker, and when she visited her ex-husband, the mafia was chasing her, and her life was at stake. Someone wants her dead! Alexus Latimer, CEO of Latimer Textiles Corporation, was shocked to learn about the twins. But as he went after her for confrontation, an accident caused her to lose her memory and become amnesic. He looked after her and got to know Joshua and Lucy, the twins. Rafaella accepted his claims that they were wed when he said they were. He was the perfect loving husband a woman could wish for. Then, he learned that Rafaella was in danger of dying and that she was a CIA agent before she confronted him about the fictitious divorce. He strives to keep her safe while learning the plot that led to his divorce from his wife, whom he had married through proxy.

I was nineteen the first time Cole Whitfield broke me. Not with cruelty. With a single word. Why. Not did you — why. Like the answer was already settled and he just wanted the story to make sense. I told him the truth anyway. He said nothing that mattered. So I picked up my bag, walked out of his apartment, and decided that a man who trusted a rumor over two years of me wasn’t worth a correction. I spent the next two years becoming someone I actually liked. New city. Graduate program. A published paper with my name on it. I was done with Cole Whitfield in every way a person can be done. Then I walked into Seminar Room 114 and he was sitting right there, gray eyes already on the door, like some part of him knew. I sat down. I opened my notebook. I did not look up. Here’s the thing about studying how people form beliefs: you understand exactly why he believed it. That doesn’t mean you forgive it. That doesn’t mean two years of silence disappear because he’s learned how to look at you like he’s sorry. He wants a conversation. I want my degree. But the campus is small, the seminar table is round, and the boy who broke my heart at nineteen is doing everything right at twenty-one — and I’m starting to understand that composed isn’t the same thing as healed. I hate that I still know the exact sound of his voice.