Ariana Dumbledore Portrait Novels & Stories

The home screen had Alpha Arthur’s hot picture and I couldn't help but swallow hard. “What’s even the special thing in this tablet that will keep me busy,” I mumbled to myself as I began to scroll through. There were pictures of him with his parents when he was young, and scrolling downwards, I began to see pictures of Elara. Alpha Arthur took his time to take pictures of her when she wasn’t paying attention. This was interesting. I clicked on another picture folder, and Alpha Arthur’s hot pictures surfaced.

For a moment there, she wasn't even sure if she was in the manifestation or out in the real world. They resembled her brothers so much, and it wasn't just their faces and figures too. The way they looked at her was uncannily the same too. Aria's foot froze in midair as her mind raced. She came up with a possible explanation, but she would need to verify the Sacrificial Offering Manifestation. Landon turned his gaze sideways a little and raised an eyebrow. Did she know these people? The people around them were still muttering. "That's the princess of Avalon. She's practicing arcane at Hollowlight Sect. I have to say that she has gotten prettier by the day. You don't often see a lady with that

"Real as the stones you walk on. Real as the air you breathe." "All of that is true," the Keeper replied, and at the child's confused expression, she laughed softly. "Come. Let me show you something." She led the girl through corridors lined with portraits, some painted, a few captured in the newer art of light-drawing that the scholars had recently perfected. Each showed Luna differently: fierce and crowned, gentle and teaching, monstrous with claws extended, serene beneath starlight. They stopped before the oldest portrait, painted when Luna still lived. The woman in the image was neither beautiful nor terrible, neither saint nor demon. Just a person scarred, tired, holding a small flower

I murmured, chest swelling with a strange mix of contentment and anxiety. Diane twirled in the middle of the living room. “It looks like a princess house!” “Only if the princess promises to do her homework,” Shawn teased. She scrunched her nose and laughed, “I will, Daddy!” While he helped the movers, I wandered into Aria’s room. Her belongings were half-unpacked—books stacked neatly, a few open photo albums scattered across the bed. I bent to pick one up—and froze. A small photo had slipped out from between the pages.

I steady myself gently on Aunt Drucella’s shoulder as she leads me out of the studio. AUTHOR'S POV Ariana grasped the vial tightly, as she suspected, the elixir contains some strong magic_she only had to open the vial close to Bella and the effect was immediate. She watch Brad and his Beta exit as she walks towards the painting. Slowly her lips crawl in a twisted smile. “Hello Keith, you look gruesome as ever.” Slowly, she run her fingers through the painting, marvelling how Bella could draw him so vividly.

Oracle Aisling was a very tiny girl of no determinable age. She was only about four foot tall with long white hair wearing a white gown of floaty gauze to her ankles and a white cloth bound her eyes. She was sitting on a pile of cushions across a crystal clear lake in a cave lit by floating orbs that undulated through the colours of the rainbow splashing the colours over the walls of the cave and reflecting in the lake giving the whole cave a magical aura as delicate music played out of the strange lute-like musical instrument the girl was playing.

I told myself I would come back for her. Damian did not hesitate to take her. My grip tightened around the phone. “That should have been me.” I said quietly. I turned away from the window and walked through the long hallway that led deeper into my private wing. My steps slowed when I reached the well room. The guards standing there bowed and opened the door for me. Inside, the room was silent. On the wall hung the painting. Aria. Her face was painted softly, her eyes calm, nothing like the fear I knew she carried inside. I had commissioned it from memory after the auction. Every detail had been described carefully: her hair, her eyes, the shape of her lips.

Before the burners sat two items: a black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man and a beautiful, lifelike doll. Her hand trembled as she stroked the face of the man in the photo, her fingers tracing his features with a mix of longing and grief. Outside the door, the knocking grew louder and more insistent. The board is set. Xavier has been forced to release his enemy, while his father is building a private army of spies. Meanwhile, a mysterious woman is burning incense to a dead man and a doll, claiming she will soon see "the little guy." Is this Xavier’s mother, An Lan, preparing for her "reckoning," or is it the woman from the photo Aria Summer found?

Wayne's face darkened. “Well, this one's for her,” Dr Lance said with a shrug and left the mug display. Shem hurried over and picked the pink mug. It had a portrait on it. A perfectly drawn portrait of a little girl. A younger version of Dolly. Underneath it was the name Dolores written in neat calligraphy.