Amazon The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

The picture then started fogging up with mixes of gray and black, having him cough even more hard he whipped a fan out blowing it away, he sat back down coughing a couple more putting the pipe straight in. “What is— the password?” He took out the pipe saying it slow and steady, extending the “s” in password looked down at Snow continuing knitting the sweater. “Strange Magic is a Dark Art.” Snow spoke loud and proud, putting her hands together she smiled waiting for him to take action. He rolled his eyes opening the frame, she pushed the picture to the side struggling to get to open. Zander gripped the frail frame and helped pull out the door for us all to go inside.

He says something to whoever picks up, waits, and thirty seconds later his phone buzzes with an image. He turns the screen around. Dorian looks at the portrait of Edward Ashvale, 1887. He looks at it for a long time. Then he puts the phone face down on the desk. "She wasn't researching the estate," he says. "No." "She was researching him." Marcus doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

THIRD PERSON POV The rain fell on London in a relentless, grey sheet. It was the kind of weather that made the city feel like a sprawling, waterlogged grave. Elias Thorne hunched his shoulders against the chill, his worn leather satchel held tight to his chest. He was late. The exclusive auction at "Obscura," a gallery known for its collection of the macabre and the arcane, was due to start in minutes, and the item he was sent to acquire was the final lot.

Dorian Grimaldi. As I pushed open the door to my dimly lit room, the familiar sight of Eden lying peacefully on the bed greeted me. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated the room, casting a warm and comforting aura. Her red hair was splayed across the pillow in loose tendrils, framing her delicate features like a halo. The gentle rise and fall of her chest indicated she was deep in sleep, breathing in rhythmic patterns.