Artwork Novel Novels & Stories

“I most certainly will, “ I have to. The sheer injustice of defacing books has sparked a passion within me. I can not stand to abide by such a crime. I would never forgive myself. However, I must correct this blunder before true mayhem comes to life and he is lost to chaos. For the sake of all books! I vow and look for my quill. Where could it be? “Oh, he’s drawn you a picture.”Maddie flips the letter for both of us to see. It’s another of Nicoli’s artworks- I see more stick figures. One is brown and the other purple. They seem to be eating. Bread? Or pie? And a rectangular creature, a horse/bear, sits with them. I feel my lips crack into a smile at the sight. It makes my chest grow warm and

There was a trace of sorrow in the way he looked at me. He smiled gently. "You're welcome." Yet his gaze seemed to pass through me, as though he were looking at someone else. As time passed, my memories gradually merged, and I came to fully understand everything about this body's past. The abusive novel's male lead had tormented her relentlessly. But she had been hopelessly love-struck. No matter how badly she was hurt, she believed there was a place for her in his heart. In the end, he abused her to death.

So he stopped speaking and started creating. Tuesday afternoon arrived, heavy with tension. Nora walked into the school gallery for her solo art presentation, expecting the usual: the applause, the whispers of admiration, the quiet pride that came with sharing her work. Her pieces portraits of emotions, pain, and raw passion lined the white walls, each canvas a fragment of her soul. She had been nervous, but she had expected comfort, recognition, a moment that belonged solely to her. But one painting wasn’t hers.

But for Lilia, none of that mattered. Her eyes were fixed on the painting—the last item of the night. "Horizon’s Lament," a masterpiece by Elian Devereux, the last work from the renowned artist before his untimely death. She had spent months studying it—memorizing every brushstroke, tracing the artist's intentions in catalog prints, and immersing herself in its history. This was more than just a painting. It was her last connection to something pure, something untouchable. And tonight, she was determined to win it.

Still just one vase. But Nova could swear there were more than before. And she hated that she noticed. By noon, Nova gave up, pretending to ignore it all. Nova needed answers, real ones. Not riddles whispered between kisses or control wrapped in silk. She returned to the study. Not the journal cabinet. Not the desk. The wall. It looked like art at first. Abstract. A mixed collage of framed sketches, blueprints, and old photographs. But Nova realized that half of it was hers. From different years. Different apartments. Different versions of herself.

After everything that has been building, after two chapters of mystery escalation and threats from directions he cannot yet see, he was not expecting this. "Show me what?" he asks. "My art," she says. "Not just one drawing. A series I have been working on." She has been quietly working on something for weeks, in the background of everything else. The sketchbook has been a recurring presence throughout the story. Closed when she is unsettled. Open when she is not. The woman with the bricked windows appears again and again. But this is different. This is deliberate. A body of work she has been building piece by piece while the world outside the penthouse spun faster.

Boxes appeared from cupboards. Folders emerged from shelves. Sketchbooks surfaced from places she'd forgotten existed. Soon the living room floor disappeared beneath years of artwork. Sophie sat cross-legged among the chaos. "Wow." Jessica looked up. "What?" "You really don't see it, do you?" Jessica frowned. "See what?" Sophie held up a sketchbook. Pages filled with charcoal drawings. People. Faces. Emotion. Pain. Beauty. Stories. "You." Jessica laughed. "That's not me." "It absolutely is."

Aria’s POV The brushes moved gracefully between my fingers as I studied the final touches on the canvas before me. The painting had evolved into something I hadn’t initially envisioned—a lighthouse standing tall and steadfast, surrounded by a mesmerizing swirl of colors that seemed to represent the changing seasons. Spring’s vibrant greens melted into summer’s golden warmth, which blended into autumn’s fiery hues before softening into winter’s cool blues and whites. The scene was stylized and whimsical, the waves and skies swirling together like a dreamscape.

“Why the fuck did my mate reject me to be with you?” My heart raced, and trying to pry my arm away from her tight grip, I growled back at her, baring my canines as my eyes turned into a deep shade of golden, my wolf waking to her senses at the feeling of danger. I went to bite her only to frown when she pushed me back against the sink, scratching my back with the counter. She went to bite me only to be pulled back, scratching my arm making me cry out in pain before she was banged against the wall behind her. Her eyes widened in surprise, and going to attack, her eyes widened in surprise when she found Arturo standing in front of her, his growl louder than hers was. I was surprised that no on

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” It still felt strange to voice it out loud. “Some artwork,” I said. “I was hoping you could work on a cover design for me, but I’d like you to keep your work a secret, if possible, please?” She did a little bounce on the spot, once my request had registered. “For real? You want a book cover? For one of your thrillers? Oh fuck. That’s awesome!” I shook my head. “No, no. Not for a thriller. I’ve been working on a different project, actually. A novel called The Girl Downstairs.”