Artist Nightmare Novels & Stories

I froze, the permanent link screaming in absolute terror as Dante’s digital form went completely rigid beside me. The creature turned its head, and through the fractured frequency, we didn't just find Arthur. The system had corrupted beyond repair—Arthur’s digital avatar was fused back-to-back with the glowing, crimson silhouette of Julian Moretti, their neural codes twisted together into a single, dual-headed monster that owned the final bypass.

Dirt pushed into my mouth as the power sagged against me. Mila's harsh chant filled my ears. I fought against the pressure to lift my face. I stared at the harsh lines of Mila's once beautiful face. She was gone. All that was left was this monster. A faint purple light glimmered behind her. I blinked a few times, trying to see it better. Slowly it materialized. The dark eyes glinted in the lights of the souls. Her bitchy face drew down into a frown. Karma snapped her fingers. Time didn't freeze. Mila continued with her chant. Karma snapped her fingers again. Her eyebrows knit together. She waved her hand in Mila's direction, but nothing happened. She settled her hands on her hips.

Hora mortis eius non cognoscetur donec amor deiectus ex cinere non resurgat et radicem eius frangat, sanguis odii sanguinem quaerit et manu amoris ductus effunditur. I woke up from my worst nightmare with the loudest gasp and scream that felt like I was taking the last breaths to pump into my lungs. I dreamt about fucking Aralyn and prophecy again. Her deceased whore of a mother that I strangled with my bare hands, then bit her head off with my teeth and ripped her heart out, was repeating those fucking words in my head. She scribbled them with her bloody finger on the wall of some fucking cell, and Aralyn was lying in there shackled and lifeless. Fucking Larissa looked as if I had not kille

She knew her nightmare will soon turn to reality and this nightmarish reality will make her life hell. Elena Singh was a 22 years old working woman like every normal women but was her life really normal like others? She was unique, she was talented, she was brave, she was independent yet she was terrified, not of anyone else but herself. Why? Because she saw dreams, or you can call them nightmar JJes, and because whatever she dreams comes true. Lately, She gets these weirdly terrifying nightmares which are scarier than any other nightmare she saw. Only if she knew, the MAN in her nightmare will soon turn her whole existence in to a living nightmare.

Paint splattered on the floor, on furniture, on Amara's clothes, evidence of the emotional storm that engulfed her. Finally, as the last rays of sunlight faded, Amara stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. The finished painting loomed before her, an unintended masterpiece born from the depths of her subconscious. The eyes on the canvas stare back at her, intense and piercing, capturing a familiarity that sends a chill down her spine.

"Why keep going after something that only hurts you? Isn't life in the ignorant healthier?" Artemisia looked at that thing, in one eye of it. All the girl saw there was darkness, it was fear, her fear. All she could see was herself, a sad, fucked up twenty-two-year-old, sitting in an empty theater and ready to empty her stomach. That reflection had everything to become a painting that represented doom, it had all the resources for it to be the decadence of someone who didn't even clearly remember his own past. "What was it? Has a demon eaten your tongue?" That thing spoke, but Artemisia didn't pay attention.

' Alarmed, a little frightened, he took a step back, his body shaking. She could see the fear in his eyes, it was so fleeting, but it was there. 'You, the butcher, the butcher of good dreams, hopeful thoughts, can never win me. I know just what is in you, just who you are, Ahriman. I see your darkness, your madness, over the illusion of beauty. I see the real you.' The thing – for it was no man, but a thing – screamed now, bawled and laughed. Craziness in its eyes, that golden pit of fire, it took another step forward.

Enough of the long story,my name is Natasha Gabriel, I'm 18 and very pretty with a body to die for. Back to the situation on ground,I dragged the only belonging I have managed to get although my 18 years on earth. I dragged them through the lone road leading to my work place,a restaurant where I worked as a waitress. I just hope Miss Lauretta let me pass the night.Today is gonna be a long night.... . .

raised his hand To the sky, to retreat in fear when the place in which it is changed and another place came out The environment has changed and everything " This is one of the museum is one of the old closed museums" Whispered her ear, pondered is the broad place contains a lot of roses withered and shattered some of the seats paintings frightening fill the walls and in the middle sits a microphone " Sontzerk" ... opened her eyes very slowly sat clutching her head moderately headache has returned For these foul dreams were all the previous days dreaming strange dreams "Waiting for me," she whispered vaguely in the mirror

Chapter 14. Angela has a dream where she's tied to a tree surrounded by blue water, she looks down at the water but she sees a different person as her reflection, a more powerful and stronger female that looks like her, but she could swear it wasn't her. Her reflection looked more lively, happy , chubby and refreshed. She paused for a second to notice if anything would happen to her reflection, but it was still there staring right in the face. Angela became even more scared, because she had never seen such a thing before. How can a reflection or shadow be more healthier than the person who owns the reflection?