A Home For Lonely Souls Novels & Stories

All their earlier promises meant nothing then. -------------- Dear Diary… It is a lonely place, a dungeon, when you are locked up on your own and left alone too. I guess he has a home to return to. And I have no wolf to talk to now either. Just four walls to look at. If this is how things go, I am likely to go insane… ----------------

Cause she had to handle her third trouble which was to calm down her crying son and that was nowhere near easy. Yeah, she was a mother and blessed with a lovely son who was the love of her life, her everything, her son Zayn Abedin. ************** Cold Skin, Drag My Feet On The Tile As I Am Walking Down The Corridor I Know We Haven't Talked In Awhile So I Am Looking For An Open Door ***************** ................... Assalamualaikum Readers... I hope you all liked it... Don't forget to comment and vote...... I love you all...... 

However, Suzy slammed her utensils down. "Henry, is this really how your family treats me? I'd be better off going home for the holidays." My brother was quick to smooth things over. "Suzy, it's pitch-black outside, where could you possibly go?" Mom chimed in quickly, "Yeah, Suzy, don't pick a fight with her. She hardly ever comes home, just for New Year's. They can crash in the guest room, and you guys take the master."

Our days were filled with laughter, imagination, and a sense of wonder that seemed to permeate every aspect of our lives. But right now, it was the year 2023, Florence felt more lonely and more alone than ever. Florence clutched the glass of alcohol, its amber liquid swirling in her hand. Never before had she felt so isolated, so utterly alone in the world. The drink had become her solace, her crutch, a desperate attempt to maintain her sanity in the face of overwhelming despair. Her gaze was fixed on the rich, reddish-brown hue of the bourbon, as if seeking refuge within its depths.

The wound from Lucien’s cursed blade wasn’t just bleeding, it was corrupting her soul. “We need to move,” Scarlet said, voice sharp, trembling. “The blade’s poison is spreading; if we don’t act now, we’ll lose her.” “Where do we go? We don’t have the resources to treat that wound out here,” Olivia said, already scanning the tree line for threats. “We can’t stay here much longer, and we can’t take her back to the castle.” “There’s a sanctuary,” Scarlet said, eyes darting to Richard. “North of here. Old ruins beneath the frozen cliffs. It's hidden, warded. My family once used it as a refuge, and there are supplies I could use to stabilize them.”

The black veins along his chest and shoulders flared visibly with each thrust, the dark veins crawling across his skin like shadows come to life. “You are killing me,” he confessed between raged breaths, his forehead resting against hers. “Every time I look at you, every time you touch me– it feels like coming homes after six years of being lost.” Amelia felt the familiar build of pressure, the one she felt last night. “I– I am your home,” she muttered breathless. “Come home to me.” She pulled Luz down for a kiss. The kiss shattered whatever remained of his military discipline. The words– “I am your home”– penetrated deeper than any blade ever could, striking at the core of the loneliness he

What Caldenveil looked like in the absence of a Warden — the slow listing, the small violences that accumulate in a place without balance, the fraying at the edges of things that should hold. And beneath that — beneath the justification it is offering — something else. Something that feels, in the register of very old things that are not human and have never been, like: *Loneliness.* The shape in the corner is not malevolent. It is not a creature of destruction. It is something that was displaced from its own place long ago and found an empty Warden-space and has been in it so long it no longer knows where it was before. It has been here. It has been keeping — poorly, yes, without the gift,

I remember the witch’s words clearly as if yesterday. “She has no mate, Sire. She’ll never have a mate.” “Why?” My mom asked. “Either he died or she’s the odd-soul.” “What’s an odd-soul?” Dad inquires. “They are the lone souls, very rare. They are not anchored to any other soul and their lives are short.” “That means...” I hear my dad trail off and it didn’t take me long to understand what it meant. “Yes, she’ll die young...” “I am so excited for the party!” I snap out of the old memory as soon as I hear Grace squeal excitedly. I let out a small grunt before stuffing my mouth with more mashed potatoes.