A Scatter Of Light Novels & Stories

My vision spins. The chandelier light fractures above me, scattering across the marble like broken glass.

Scott walked before them as they took the exit. At the far end of the path that led to the gates of the pack, Scarlet stood, arm crossed, lost in deep thought. To make it more creepy, the surrounding lights flickered while others stayed steady. Her shoulders were jerking as she wept, standing alone in front of the tall white building that had withered flowers surrounding it. Lana was about to make her way to her when Scarlet turned and began walking off. Wherever she passed, the bright light in that area twinkled like she was sucking its energy. Also, the pronounced dark clouds around her made it obvious that something was following her.

The light is everywhere at once. He thought about the light everywhere at once as the coastal light vocabulary's most accurate description. He thought about the dispersal he had noticed on Wednesday — the light arriving from the whole horizon, the source not a point but an expanse. He thought about the girl's language as the more precise version of his attending: not wider than itself but the light that comes from behind the sea, the light without a visible source, the light that was everywhere at once. He thought: she has given the coastal light its name.

Tiny bits of light in every color of the rainbow cocooned around Zinnia. As fast as they had come, they shot out, heading directly at the growing army of vampires. Screams could be heard from the vamps as the lights themselves seemed to be attacking. The streaks flit so fast, like tiny weapons, attacking and then darting away. The vampires found themselves swatting at them like insects, trying to stop the tiny stab wounds happening simultaneously all over their bodies. It was a northern light show like no other.

The floor was a whisper, a delicate balance between substance and void, and each step felt like walking on air itself. There were no stars scattered above, no constellations to guide her or trace stories across the dark. Instead, a subtle glow hovered at a distance, faint and blurred, like the soft pulse of distant city lights bleeding through a thick fog on a rainy night — diffused and ethereal, promising warmth but always just out of reach. That light was a quiet promise, a whisper of existence beyond the hollow silence that surrounded her.

he whispered, the words sounding like a cry for help rather than a promise. Liora turned away, giving them space. Her own hands trembled slightly. She looked at her palm; the dark scar was still there, but now a tiny pink light swirled inside it, like a trapped spark. The white light in her chest felt calm and happy, like it enjoyed eating the pink light. That thought made her feel sick.

A faint, flickering light seemed to emanate from that direction, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Aria's curiosity was piqued, and she squinted her eyes to take a better look. The light was soft and reddish, like the glow of embers or the spark of flint. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and Aria felt an inexplicable sense of unease as she gazed upon it.

It pierces through the air, undimmed by the sun's rays, guiding me to the target's location with unwavering precision. its light casting a faint shadow on the ground below, a shimmering echo of its path that seems to pulse with an energy all its own. The thread's luminescence was so bright that it casts a faint glow on nearby surfaces In the room illuminating hidden details. As the thread continues on its journey, it leaves behind a trail of glittering, shimmering light that seems to pulse with an energy all its own. The other end of the thread fell in my hands. The spell was getting close to its target.

The sky pulses. Not lightning. Not thunder. A heartbeat. Then, A crack. Thin at first, like glass splintering under ice. But it stretches, widening across the heavens from one end to the other. A jagged red fracture, glowing with molten light, bleeding fire down in threads so fine they resemble silk spun by forgotten gods. The clouds don’t scatter. They peel. The stars do not fade. They scream. Their constellations bend, their light flickers violently, like eyes rolling back in pain.

She took another deep breath and pushed it open, pressing into another space. The other room was so bright, with glittering lights hanging from the ceiling like stars, sending shades of light glimmering across the walls. There were gems and crystals scattered on the floor to catch the lights' beams and send rainbow patterns across the room. She stared, mesmerised, unable to tear her gaze away.