Novel & Cerita Black Like My Soul

Not when it was this demon in human form in front of him. "I am asking you again and for the last time,where is my money?" the other man who looked exactly like a drug lord said,while puffing carelessly on his pipe. "Give me just one month please. One more month and I promise I'll pay off my debt. Please" the older man begged. "You think i came all the way here to listen to your pleadings?" the drug lord said with a scoff. The older man, Mark,was mute. He had tried hard to pay back the debt he owed this demon standing in front of him,but things seemed to be working against him.

the leader of their council said. There was so much hatred in the way he spoke to me, and I wondered what he was talking about. "What did you find out?" I asked him. " You possessed a dark lunar magic and this has brought about some kind of darkness to our pack, we do not accept that kind of magic here and anyone who brings such to us will be punished" he said. It sounded like some lame joke, I am never with such kind of magic, what has this got to do with me?

I curled tighter on the cold marble floor, pulling my knees to my chest, the silk of the gown pooling around me like cold water, like beautiful, shimmering chains that bound me tighter than any legal clause. “I don’t want to be his,” I choked out, the words ripped from the deepest part of my soul. “Not even on paper. I don’t care what the law says. I’m still me. My spirit, my soul… he doesn’t get to own that. He can’t.” My wolf was quiet again, her presence settling into a profound, shared silence. But I knew she agreed. Her quiet understanding was a bond stronger than any ritual. Even if the world saw me as Damian Blackwood’s mate, his property, bound by his will… my soul was still mine. My

They say, life is full of colours, sometimes dull, sometimes bright but for the man waiting in that almost empty hallway, life has mostly it shown him the colour black. Dark black. How can black be dark? One might question but after looking into this lost billionaire's eyes, they would get their answer. Maybe if they look a little closely, they might also see his dark soul. Just like his soul, the colour black dominated everything in him, in his life. His soul was just as black as the clothes he wore. As it should be because life is full of colours, death is not. Death has only one colour and that is the magnificent black.

Dylan feigned a hurt expression and placed his palm over his heart. “What? Do you work with him?” Dominique questioned. Dylan smirked. He was enjoying the game, “Have you seen him?” “No, never.” Dominique gave a straight answer but a frown settled on his brows when Dylan let out a dark chuckle. “Well then hello to you. I am the psychopathic Mafia Lord you were talking about.” He asserted and flashed Dominique a small smile but that only ceased his heartbeat. “W-What? That’s not possible.” Dominique couldn’t embrace reality. He was ’The Black”.

Such souls had no place in my dark utopia. Meanwhile, Zeve’s soul print was an interesting mix of light, darkness, and grey. She had it all in herself. Zahir’s soul print was pitch black, the darkest shade of black, with no hope, happiness, or emotions. His soul was no less than a black hole. It could eat up all the light in this world and still be starving. Yet he pretended to be on the brighter side. Well, what else could we expect from a person who was born with forbidden knowledge?

Chapter 15 🚨 This chapter contains Smut content. 🚨 Cleo Allow me to introduce myself; Hi my name is Cleopatra Kwena. I'm a black South African woman and I love my chocolate white. There I said it. However color has never mattered to me because we fall in love with souls . I just have a preference , reason being I've dated within my race but I always find myself attracted to white guys. I can't explain it . It's not psychological and its not because of our history.

After he had received the instructions, the man drifted from the wall and moved to plain sight. Ibekwe's heartbeat increased as he saw the white and black paint in different parts of the man's eyes as he came closer to him. The white paint was in his right eye. The black paint was in his left eye. He was dressed in Osisiakalaka's attire and he was chanting a song that Ibekwe had only heard from the mouth of Osisiakalaka. The man that looked like Osisiakalaka ran quickly and stopped. Fear gripped Ibekwe. What will happen now? Why did he stop? Again, the man drove his painted eyes, moving from the desperation that hung on Ibekwe's head to the burden of being disturbed by his own mind that hung