Author Margaret Way Novels & Stories

Margaret McGurtrie was tall and large - boned , with a face of unusual beauty , had it been allied to a slender body she would have been able to hold her own with anyone tut she was too big , and all her movements were clumsy One was apt to overlook eyes of a violety - blue fringed by thick dark lashes , black hair with bluish lights in it , a wide and generous mouth and a pale honey - tinted skin , wher one was confronted with big feet , ugly hands , and a stride like a grenadier's , combined with a gruff mannish voice Margaret dressed in tweeds and heavy brogues which made her feet look even bigger ; her thick knitted stockings did not help , and she favoured fawns and greys which were the

Margaret smiles and turns another page of her romance novel between angels. "Margaret, Occisor, come eat!" Mary screamed from the kitchen. Margaret sighed and marked her book, leaving it on the bed. Occisor followed behind his older sister. Margaret was now a twenty-year-old girl, her long red hair grew down below her buttocks, her eyes were large, a brown like honey and her small mouth adorns her thin and delicate face. But, as they say, anyone who sees face doesn't see the heart, and in Margaret's case, no one saw her fists and her thirst for blood.

Strong houses assailed my ears from downstairs informing me that something was definitely wrong somewhere. “He is here. He is here at Alpha’s house. Margaret is dead!" she slid down the door looking very grave and afraid. Margaret is dead. The words replayed in my head. Who is Margaret! I wasn't well acquainted with the omega's save for Jewel so I couldn't tell who she was talking about. “Margaret is the head of the omegas,” she said via quiveing lips. “The one I met the other day?” “No, that was the second in command. Margaret is the overall. She hardly comes to the kitchen.. She is in charge of running the house in terms of cooking and cleaning. She hardly comes out of her office. They fou

Watching the way Adrian seemed to relax in her presence. Margaret appeared next, dressed impeccably as always, and took her seat at the head of the table. She poured herself tea with deliberate slowness, and I saw her eyes move between Adrian and Vanessa with something like satisfaction. "Vanessa, did you try the lavender sachets I put in your room?" Margaret asked, her voice warm with genuine affection. An affection I'd never heard directed at me. "They were lovely, thank you," Vanessa said, her eyes briefly touching Adrian's before returning to Margaret. "So thoughtful of you."

* * * Late Summer, 1645 Margaret has fled us. I do not blame her. Cate and I explained things as best we could. Margret and John have always been...close, so I hoped that they would both agree, even if not eagerly. Margaret has always been protective, however, and she refused, saying that she would not damn John because of my sins and witchcraft.

On the other side of the city. Margaret sat slumped in an armchair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Magazines were scattered at her feet, each cover featuring the same woman—Cecilia, the focal point of the world's attention lately. Her head was tilted back, but her eyes remained fixed downward, burning holes into those photographs. Her nails dug deep into the armrest, leaving behind savage grooves. “God’s damn darling...” Margaret spat the words through clenched teeth, her voice full of venom.

Nick stared at his mother's face, “What are you whispering about?” Margaret shook her head in the opposite direction, telling the obvious —No. “I can't jump into conclusion yet, I have to wait for Sophia.” Sitting in her office, Emery stared out the window, watching the city lights flicker against the night sky. She had won. But something still didn’t sit right. She had always imagined how her victory would feel, but what she felt at the moment wasn't what she had imagined. Margaret had folded too easily. The stepmother she knew was so difficult, she wouldn't give up easily except if there's something she would benefit from it.

Mary Redferne Judith, my best friend, sat beside me on the couch, with my mother and sister opposite us, as we were presented with a selection of wedding dresses, each one simpler than the last. It was evident these dresses were deliberately chosen, designed to ensure I didn't outshine my sister Clara on her wedding day. Mr. McKinnon had made it clear that his son’s wedding needed to be the talk of the season. Clara expressed her disappointment directly, saying, "Mary, these dresses are so plain. I thought your wedding dress would be more... special. This is something you wouldn’t even wear."

she said encouragingly. Feeling relieved by Margaret's kindness, Emily relaxed a bit and joined in the conversation. Margaret shared stories about Alex's childhood adventures, painting a lively picture of him growing up. Listening to Margaret's stories, Emily began to admire Alex's family more and felt grateful for their welcoming attitude towards her. Margaret didn't look like a strict and scary woman but was like a loving grandma, always smiling and gentle. She had a lot of wisdom from her years of experience, and being around her felt like being at home. Emily thought Margaret would reject her since she wasn't from a rich background or so.

The rooftop door opened, and Margaret Whitmore stood in the doorway, dressed in a cream silk robe, her silver-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, holding a cup of tea. She took one step onto the terrace, and her eyes moved from Adrian, still naked on the love seat with the blanket pooled around his waist, to me, fully dressed but clearly dishevelled, standing three feet away with the wild-eyed energy of a cornered animal. Margaret's expression shifted through several stages in approximately two seconds. Surprise, then understanding, then something I couldn't read, and then a mask of mortified apology so convincing that I would have believed it if my brain had been functioning at anything