Arranged Hearts Novels & Stories

His heart, a flourishing garden, intricately woven with threads of dreams turned into reality, pulsated with an unparalleled intensity. In this magical moment, his heart orchestrated a symphony, ringing bells that echoed the harmonious melody of their connection. The beats of his heart danced between the gentle notes of a slow ballad and the rapid tempo of an enraptured sonnet. His cheeks mirrored the hues of a twilight sky, blushing with the warmth of love, and his countenance radiated a glow reminiscent of a fully bloomed rose.

I would do anything and everything to bring her back to me. Because I needed her. Because I loved her. I spent the day planning. The garden, our spot had to be perfect. I had the staff clear the space, bring in warm lighting, soft music, candles, a table set for two. I picked the flowers myself, choosing only the best, the ones she loved. A trail of petals from the gate to the table. Everything had to be perfect. Then came the hard part—getting Lisa there.

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After a few moments of speaking and clicking her tongue to her teeth, Weaver dropped her palms to the hearts, clutched them up tight in her grip and pushed them over close, nearly bumping them together. “Arise, tribes of Pictdom,” she hissed, not seeming to care if any heard her, but her voice echoed out of the woods so loud quite a few standing took a step back. They all looked about, unable to understand how her voice came out so thunderous and rolled across the dell. “We will march on this morning, thousands of hearts, but one beat.” She then dashed the hearts together, causing her apprentice to jump and Tancorix to step backwards out of the grove. Her hands ground the hearts collectively

Something meant to be used for exactly these kinds of occasions. Candles lined the path in the positions someone had placed them earlier in the evening … small glass holders, evenly spaced, their light warm and low. Rose petals had been scattered across the stone floor in a shape that was unmistakably a heart, large enough to stand inside, with the larger statement candles positioned at intervals around its outer edge. Ken stood at the far end of the space, his back to the entrance, facing the garden wall. He had a flower in his hand … a single one, held loosely at his side, the kind of detail that Jenny had probably arranged and he had accepted without thinking too much about it. He was hol

He looked her in the eyes, and suddenly the weight of their arrangement felt lighter, shifting into something more promising, something that could be. Bridgette couldn’t help but smile. The humor of their initial meetings swirled into a new unpredictability filled with potential. Maybe arranged marriages weren’t so traditional; they were simply the backdrop of a new adventure waiting to unfold. As they sat on that bench, two surprised lovers navigating unforeseen affection, Bridgette felt the rush of hope blossoming, uncertain, yet exhilarating.

It was unlike any of the rubies I’d seen before—it was perfectly cut into the shape of an anatomically correct heart, with strange symbols I didn’t recognize carved into the surface. And beneath it was an envelope that read: “For Natalia’s Eyes Only.”

“My name’s Ren.” It took no more than that for the room to soften. The air seemed to shift, as if a gentle breeze had swept through, carrying away the tension. Maris smiled gently, her eyes warm and inviting. “We’re glad you’re here, Ren.” Ren held up her sketchpad, opened to a single page. A drawing: two hearts tethered by thread but spinning in opposite directions. “I drew this,” she said, voice low. “Because I didn’t know how to explain what I felt.”

Celeste (between Remy, Noah, and Brittany—smiling): “High school, high sync.” Locket thumped—six heartbeats + two new ones + forty-seven hellebores + valley frost.

“But not just any gift. It must be something that embodies the essence of our power and serves as a reminder of the balance between love and fear.” The witches murmured in agreement, their eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and trepidation. They began to conjure, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as they chanted ancient incantations. The forest around them responded, the wind picking up, swirling leaves and shadows around them. From the depths of their magic, they summoned a beautiful, yet eerie, gift: a crystal heart, pulsating with a soft, red glow. “This heart,” Seraphina explained, holding the shimmering object aloft, “is imbued with our magic. It represents the love