How Is Torche Humaine Used In Historical Contexts?

Annette Marechal at twenty-four, has finally understood the difference between: being loved and being used. Upon meeting Antoine Bourdeu, she believed that her life was finally going to be complete. She married him, two months after meeting him, madly in love with his thoughtful personality and his way of treating and caring for her. She never cared about the ten-year-old difference, nor the comments of Antoine's family towards her. Until he discovered the true root of his interest: his father's company about to fail. Knowing that she was used to reach her father, she confronted Antoine and he assured her that he had loved her, not as she would have liked, but as a means to an end. Full of pain and helplessness, suffering the betrayal of the supposed love of her life, Annette decided to leave never to return, Antoine Bourdeu, eldest son of the Bourdeu family, one of the wealthiest in France, did not believe in love, but in the commitment and stability that being married gave him in business. The beautiful Annette had seduced him, and he had fallen at her feet, driven mad by her emerald green eyes and mischievous gaze. She wanted to know the world and he promised to fulfill it. Until he realized how interested and manipulative his sweet Annette was. She left right after the ceremony, when he wanted to make her his body and soul. He disappeared from the map, taking with him more than his male pride. At least that's what he thought, because now, more cynical and stronger than ever, Antoine would return to take back what was his. No one denied Antoine Bourdeu

René Huang is a French-Chinese Painter who lives in France. He lives alone there when his parents are living in China. He is famous, rich, and handsome. Everything in his life was perfect until finally, unexpected events started happening in his life. He painted some paintings in his sleep, and there was a secret behind them. He wanted to find out the secret, and when he became a guest lecturer in an art university, he met a student who was related to the paintings. Their relationship was not good at first, but when they were investigating the paintings together, the romance started blooming. Note: This novel is inspired by my fanfiction that was posted on another platform. The idea and the story are mines. No plagiarism. Cover by MichelleLeeee

At the Halloween Carnival, my younger brother and I got separated. Not long after, the headless body of a teenage boy was found in an alley. My father was consumed with rage—he blamed me entirely. He locked me in the chapel and forced me to chant prayers and light candles for my brother's soul for eighty-one days and nights. After that, he had me sold to a brothel in the city's red-light district, so I could spend the rest of my life atoning for my brother. He instructed the brothel manager there to give me only the most depraved clients—and to make sure I was left barely breathing. The brothel manager, paid to follow orders, assigned me to women with twisted tastes. Night after night, I was tormented. When I came down with consumption, I was denied any care. The hands I'd once used to turn pages—the hands of a scholar—were deliberately broken, crushing whatever hope I had left for the future. Eventually, one client went too far, and I died on the bed. The brothel manager had my body rolled up in a straw mat and dumped in a mass grave outside town. A year later, on New Year's Eve, my brother came back.

In my past life, I was a top-tier criminal psychologist sent to the mountains to assist in an abduction case. I rescued a girl who was all chained up and fighting for food with wild dogs. She didn’t know how to talk and bit anyone who came close. To help her integrate into normal life, I taught her to walk on her two legs, dress herself, eat, talk, and read. Despite being bitten by her so badly that I had to get stitches, I continued staying by her side day and night. Five years later, I helped her find her biological parents, who turned out to be the richest family in the city. Yet, at her welcome banquet, she pulled the hem of her dress away, revealing old scars on her thighs and accusing me before hundreds of media partners and reporters. “Not only did Professor Lawson teach me the rules of society, but he even taught me how to please and serve others. He'd bully me and hit me if I were disobedient.” I was treated like a pariah overnight. The richest man in the city crippled me and hung me on the bridge over the sea as a warning to all. My sister, who had severe depression, had her privacy violated. She was driven to slit her wrists and commit suicide. In this life, the cellar door was kicked down once again. The girl, all covered in filth and dirt, climbed toward me once more, hugging my leather shoes and sobbing. I immediately took a step back and pulled out my body cam. “The suspect is extremely aggressive. Call for female cops and have them bring restraint straps with them. I refuse to come into contact with any underage persons of the opposite gender.”

The forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter. ⸻ TABOO is a collection of dark, provocative, and irresistibly steamy stories that explore the desires people aren’t supposed to have… but crave anyway. In this world, lines are crossed, rules are broken, and temptation is impossible to resist. These are the forbidden fantasies no one admits to… but everyone thinks about. From secret affairs to forbidden attractions, from power plays to dangerous encounters, each story pulls you deeper into a world where desire takes control… and consequences don’t matter. These are the fantasies whispered in the dark. The ones no one admits to. The ones that linger long after the night ends. Enter if you dare.

My grandmother is, as far as the law is concerned, a dead woman. She faked her own death so she could go off with the boy she'd grown up beside, and she left evidence behind that made my grandfather her killer. He went away for twenty years. She sold his house and ran to Port Halcyon with the other man. One of them became a famous attorney who talks about justice in courtrooms. The other became a philanthropist who talks about compassion under television lights. My grandfather carried the word wife-killer for the rest of his life. My father grew up on whatever the neighbors could spare. He never spent a day in school, and he wore his hands raw laying brick until he'd put me through college. Two generations, two pairs of ruined hands, lifting me one step at a time out of Pinebarrow. Fifty years after my grandmother's fake death. I sit on the felony bench of the Dunstone Superior Court. In front of me are five young women charged in a murder. The case against the first four is airtight. Against the fifth, there's half a fingerprint at the scene and a witness who accounts for her entire night. Even the police call her the least likely of them. The murder charge won't hold. I go through her file. Under family, there's a name. Evelyn Harrow. My grandmother. I look at how much the two of them resemble each other. And when her lawyer moves to have her released from this courtroom a free woman, I bring the gavel down lightly. "This court denies the defense motion for dismissal. This court further recommends that the district attorney formally charge the defendant with murder."