Romans & histoires Baroness Von Bon Bon Fanart

Enzo repeated, voice like ice. Baron leaned back in his chair. “A thousand gold notes.” There was a long pause. Even some of the nobles gasped. A thousand? For me? Was he insane or just delusional? “She’s an Omega,” Ash muttered, deadpan. “Not a princess.” Baron lifted his goblet toward him. “She’s the most rebellious Omega you’ll find on this side of the land. Hard to tame, but maybe that’s what you are into.”

Letting the paint come together the way it wants. I spin around and throw my hands up. I paint the face that's emerging on the canvas. My paint forms a face that's the subject of my secret infatuation. Bastian in a blue dress shirt with two buttons undone. I rock and wiggle to the music. When the song ends, I hear clapping behind me. I yelp and spin around. Pressing pause on my phone. Bastian is smiling, sitting on the arm of one of my armchairs. "That was good."

With an inflated sense of her attractiveness, she put on airs, never uttered a truth, loved freebies, and then flaunted these small gains on social media as if they were grand gestures of friendship, earning her the nickname "Drama Queen." "Yeah, your 'insights' could win 'The Brain!'" Bella retorted, heading back to her desk. Fiona followed, rummaging through her bag to pull out several DVDs. Bella glanced at them, unimpressed by the animation quality, "The art isn't very aesthetic." "Ultraman and Transformers have aesthetic art?" Fiona accused her of double standards. Bella shrugged, asking, "Is there a plot? I'd like to see Snow White." Fiona snatched the DVDs back, "And you deny having p

"The place with the little chairs! The pretty one!" I knew she meant the boutique near the gallery district, a high-end dessert shop known for its hand-painted petit fours and velvet armchairs. I glanced at Bonnie. “Does that sound okay to you, Bonnie? Or are you too tired?” Bonnie met my eyes in the mirror. For a moment, she looked like she might decline, but then she gave a small, dignified nod. “I like their pistachio macarons,” she said quietly. “Then it’s settled,” I said, turning the wheel.

Her hair swept up in soft pinned curls in a half updo. A child sat on her lap, tiny hands clutching her skirt. She perched on a green baroque couch, soft light spilling over her. The room behind her glowed Art Deco, Prussian flair, all luxury and symmetry. The painter was none other than the then Die Wölfe der Nacht (The Wolves of the Night) Baronessa Franziska von Liechtenstein, that 18th-century Prussian noble. Then I realized, this painting was part of a pair, a set. “Why two paintings?”

“I am already enjoying my stay in Hawaii. My stay here is already memorable all thanks to you.” I rested my head on his shoulder, silently thanking the heavens for moments like this. Moments that were simple, pure, and ours. Baron pulled out his camera from his bag, reviewing the pictures we took at the eatery and the art gallery. “No need to thank me. You are mine. I am yours.” Baron handed me the camera. “Check out this picture, babe.” Baron urged. I looked at the picture. I was standing behind a painting. A large painting. The painting depicted a serene scene of motherhood where a woman with blonde hair was breastfeeding a gingerhead. It showed the connection of love without racism.

said Bonbon again, picking up strands of Ilyria’s hair between her fingers and grimacing at what she saw, “Bring me scissors and curlers. Also, the cloud silk.” Ilyria rolled her eyes at her reflection. Bonbon acted like she was a child who had been out rolling in the dirt all day. Then she caught Bonbon’s expression and saw there was something else. Was she jealous? “Bonbon,” she said, “He is only accompanying me to the palace to try out to be a dancer.” “What do I care,” said Bonbon, tugging a comb cruelly through Ilyria’s tangled curls. “I know you do,” said Ilyria, wishing she could say more. But that was for Thassa to share with her. “And I also know he does.”

“You’re showing off aren’t you, that the King favours you.” “You have no idea how dangerous this situation is. Once you are here, there is no escaping.” Bonnie wasn’t absorbing my words, completely fixated on my collar. Jealousy flashes in her orbs, “That collar showcases your high-ranking position, that you are in a different league than the rest of us because you are the King’s human mate.” I exhaled, frustrated. “Really? Why won’t you see the truth of our reality.” Bonnie mouth twisted with a diabolic smile. “Maybe If I disfigure your face then he won’t want you anymore.” she smirks, “After all, a King wants perfection and that is something you aren’t.”

“The man personally approved the moisturiser.” “Bonnie,” Daniella warns while trying not to smile herself. “What? I’m just saying.” Bonnie shrugs with a playful grin. "The boss has really taken a liking to you, you know," Daniella says, her tone suddenly becoming serious as I feel myself blush even more, feeling completely flustered hearing that Dante was involved in choosing any of this personally. The image of him standing somewhere discussing art supplies and skincare products honestly feels ridiculous, considering this is the same man who casually discusses warehouse operations and family wars.

Shit, I stared daggers at Maria as Baron stepped inside the door, looking his usual smooth put together self but with a worried frown on his face. Baron had the golden looks of a model and the body to go with it, he also had money and a self-assured confidence which made him seem like someone too perfect to be true. His blonde casual looking but actually styled hair always looked like they’d been done by a hairdresser and his clothes were always designer casual. Someone would wonder at what an odd group of friends we were, me, Maria and Baron, all so different and so close. People who saw Baron might only see his wealth and wonder what he was doing with a nobody like me until they saw his in