Alan Campbell Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

Aldus's expression turned fierce, and he shouted angrily. Fabian responded coldly, "Aldus, I respect you. But as a Campbell, having reformed and returned from the military, I must repay the Campbells with my honors. If I allow this man to harm Grandma, what use is my glorious return?" "Good!" Dorothy's face flushed with excitement, her eyes gleaming as she loudly praised.

The sight stole the air right of my lungs, leaving my jaw slack, and hands slightly quivering. My mind spins, as I attempt to make sense of what I am looking. Why in the world does Grayson have a room dedicated primarily to an unknown wolf that looks as if it could tear me apart in seconds? The thought makes me shiver. Tentatively, I wander into the room a little further. Up close, I can see the dead soul in the creature's eyes. Someone had to have been close enough to take a photo of this beast, and I can't imagine anyone that would be brave enough to do so. Unless Grayson is the culprit. I mean, this is his room...

Alexander replied, while chucking. He opened the door, without hesitation. I stepped inside to be met with an annoyed Adonis. Alexander clearly slumped on the couch, while I took a seat opposite Adonis. "You can leave now." Adonis asked Alexander, while eying me carefully. "Yes Ozymandius" Alexander replied in a gruff voice while walking out the door. So his name was Ozymandius? "Ozymandius" I tested on my lips. I looked at Adonis - I mean Ozymandius, who had his eyes shining golden.

Standing beside them were two men, inconspicuous and silent, their faces unreadable as they stood off to the side. At the center of the conference room sat a tall and imposing man—Damon Greyson, a core figure in the Dragon Gang. Standing at around 188 cm, his muscular frame was clad in a dark suit, which gave him an air of authority and solemnity. His sharp features and piercing eyes often sent a chill down one’s spine, making it clear that he was not a man to be trifled with. The moment Damon entered the room, the atmosphere thickened with an undeniable sense of tension and gravitas.

Then quietly muttered to himself, “Caspian Vale, you spawn of Satan. Open the damn door before I squat myself into unemployment.” And just as he reached full mental collapse… The door creaked. Caspian stepped out, his face unreadable as ever. Dorian opened his mouth, but Caspian didn’t even look at him like the air itself wasn’t worth addressing. There was no apology, no explanation. It was just, “You’re still here?” Dorian blinked. Smiled. The tight, teeth-clenched kind. “Yes, sir.” He followed him in plotting murder with style.

She turned to Dorian but the man just stood still, staring blankly,his eyes looked distant,same look he had earlier when he was looking at that wolf back at the farmhouse,was he thinking? Few seconds after,a man,dressed in all black, approached them, raising something in his hand, Penelope almost let out a low gasp when she saw the bundle of cash in his hand. Gesturing with his brow,Dorian ordered for him to place the money against the counter and he did so, leaving afterwards. "Will that do?" He asked an oblivious question knowing fully well he was giving well over much more than what the seller asked for. "Take everything,anyone you want"

I catch a flash of golden light in the Sword Bearer’s eyes as he stares at Dorian. With casual movements, Dorian brushes snow off the hood of his cloak. He does not look affected in the slightest by Alaric’s growl. “I cleaned up our tracks, so it should be difficult for anyone to follow us,” Dorian says while sitting near the campfire. Dorian warms his gloved hands by the fire before glancing toward us with a crooked smile. “Should I leave? So you two can finish your quickie?” Dorian asks lightly. Alaric does not take his eyes off Dorian. “If you’re done outside, sit in the corner and shut your mouth.”

Our shadows stretched long behind us in the evening light, and I looked at his profile and felt, for the first time in years, the quiet flutter of something my chest had forgotten how to do. Far away in New York, Dorian Fontaine was slumped over a dark desk in a building he was running out of time to keep, being squeezed by creditors on every side. His life had become a pile of rot.

Just when she thought things couldn't get any more embarrassing, she heard the form room door fly open. Alice looked upwards and her eyes widened with shook. Somebody who she did not expect to see was standing there, with both of her arms folded. Emilia Campbell.

It was nice to have someone to talk about his romantic life with –semi pseudo paraplegic romance –even though it wasn't for free. It felt regular and archaic and old and a total cliché when he took his first step towards the man. He expected to feel something new, but it was still the same. From the ground floor elevator to the third floor where Hamilton's office was; the purple orchid that hung to right side of the door; the room thirty seven copper plated office number with Dr H. E. Greenfield boldly inscribed beneath, everything up unto this moment felt too predictable and strangely insipid.