A Thorn That Pierces Me Novels & Stories

But as Thorn’s laugh echoed through the cave, I knew it was too late. I kept my movements slow, my fingers sore from rubbing the ropes against the sharp rock. The pain was unbearable, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Every time I thought I might be close to breaking free, every time I tried to put more pressure on the ropes, the sharp pain from my wound pulled me back to reality. I could feel blood trickling down my side, soaking into my clothes, but I refused to give up. I couldn’t. Thorn’s mocking voice echoed through the cave, breaking through my thoughts. He paced again, each step measured, deliberate, like a predator waiting for its prey to slip.

Every step felt like fire. It was like someone was hitting my feet with a hammer, right through my old sneakers. The elevator in our building has been broken for weeks now. So climbing five floors of stairs is just my life. I struggled with my keys, my hands hurt from carrying heavy grocery bags. When will I ever catch a break? I thought. I could hear music blasting through our door before I even opened it. Some happy pop song. I pushed the door open with my shoulder.

The thorns seemed to pulsate with a dark energy, as if they were alive, waiting to ensnare their next victim. The thorns were a warning to any who entered the dungeon - a warning that this was a place of pain and suffering, a place where only the strongest could survive. Bree shivered as she looked around the dungeon, feeling a sense of dread wash over her. She knew that she was in for a long and brutal punishment, and that the thorns would be her constant companions throughout her time in the dungeon.

I ran until my legs ached, thorns pricking my skin and wild branches slapping my face and shoulders. I was mad at the world. I could barely feel the pain as the thorns pierced my skin, drawing just enough blood. What I wanted was raw pain. A strange vine with claw-like tendrils crept tightly around my wrist, wrapping itself around me like a child clinging to something familiar. I tried to remove it, but it curved deeper into my flesh, unwilling to let go. I let it hold me, feeling its treacherous thorns dig into my skin like they belonged there.

I let out a cry as the pain intensified. I called it. I knew that thorn was poisonous. The eerie noise from before sounded again but this time, it was more intense. I tried to stand but I fell back to the ground. A cold breeze blew past me and I shivered. I began to hear a loud thump. It sounded like the footsteps of a giant. Oh shit! This is bad. Very bad.

There was just a thorn and velvet petals. A red rose. I brought out the flower. My finger brushed through the stem. A thorn mistakenly pricked my skin. "Ouch..." I said almost aloud. My finger became hot from where blood beaded The room went quiet, only the sound of the clock ticking and my breathing. I swallowed nothing, no tears. I don't even know what I even want. The moment my skin hit the thorn,my body was clearly his. I looked at the bead of blood on my finger.

*Thorn* The pain is a dull throb now, a background noise that blends with the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I’m slumped in the chair, my body a marionette with severed strings, barely hanging on to consciousness. I can feel the bruises blooming across my skin, each one a testament to their cruelty. I know they’ll keep coming, keep pushing, until I’m nothing but a broken shell. But I will keep fighting, and keep my mouth shut. I can handle pain, I am used to pain… probably more than anyone else realises.

“The girl is me but before I got sealed. And she is locked away with everything I was and represented before it was put on me.” “Why was the thorn able to hurt you then?” “How so?” “The day I marked you, I followed a pull that led me to your mind.” He told me. “The girl had scratches on the hands and the plushie was almost tattered and with a collar of thorns around its neck.” A shiver ran down my body, the image he presented was truly terrible. No wonder that back then, I felt like dying instead of living with that constant terror and pressure.

I said​,‌ my finger tighte⁠ning on the trigger. "Thorn​e w‍an‌ted to own you. I just want to e​ven the pla⁠ying fi⁠eld. If I blow​ this tank, this w‍hole room becomes a fu⁠r⁠nace​.⁠ Your 'solution' won't have anything l‌eft‍ to buy." A heavy‍ boot struck the‌ front do‌or. Thud. ​The w‌ood gr​oaned‌.

I woke with a scream stuck in my throat. Sweat covered me. My heart raced. My chest hurt like someone had actually stabbed me. I pushed myself up—and almost slammed into Thorne. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, shirt off, staring at the wall like he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. His skin was damp with sweat. We looked at each other. “I stabbed you,” I said. “I know.”