Black Marble With Gold Veins Novels & Stories

The lapels edged in teeth-like mother-of-pearl. Gold rings crowd his long fingers. Each heavy band set with obsidian skulls that seem to absorb the light. Their hollow eyes tracking my every involuntary movement. But his eyes… Pupils swallowed by the void. Twin black holes that seemed to lead to an endless abyss, rimmed with a sickly bioluminescent blue. The same haunting shade as mine, as Mamá’s—now corrupted, glowing with a toxic luminescence. The butterfly sigil pulses on his silk lapel, its delicate wings flexing with a life of their own.

The fabric was soaked, the black material looking even darker where the blood had bloomed. "She drugged you," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What was in that needle?" "Doesn't matter." He finally turned, and the sight of him made my breath hitch. His eyes weren't just gold, they were a molten, swirling amber that seemed to glow in the dim moonlight. The veins in his neck were prominent, pulsing with a life of their own. He looked less like a man and more like a god of war who had just been offered a sacrifice.

His composed expression changes to one of uncertainty. His hand digs into his pocket, pulling out a small box of velvet with a deep navy blue hue that stands out against his eyes, which are heavy with emotion. As he opens it, I behold a glint of brilliance in the marquise diamond. The diamond shone with a brilliance that reflects all that swirls inside of me.

The matching chalice was sitting off to the side. “Here.” Martina walked around the table and looked behind her before she pulled out a small box. The Nike shoebox seemed humorous to the way she was being as gentle as she could. Gently opening the lid, a chalice sat surrounded by bubble wrap. It was gold with rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds. In an alternating pattern along the top. There were obvious black spots in a row that looked like someone’s hand had been there for so long, it was permanently etched into the gold.

My intention was to give Isla the spectrum of light, not just the endless void of her chosen darkness. On a makeshift workbench, I laid out the tabletop samples. The elegant honed-white marble, then a really dramatic dark darker quartz gray with its white veining. This was the first nod to her. The last was more dramatic and the one I preferred. The marble was a true dark purplish, it was nearly black with a tiny bit of near gray veining. I stood back, arms crossed, letting the silence of the construction site settle the tension in my chest. A shadow fell across the floor.

At the end of the V-shaped table was another set of tables where food and beverages were often placed. We all sat down at the conference table made of solid mithril wood. The wood was beautiful in itself and had a platinum hue reflecting the colour of the metal itself. There was a subtle iridescence with hues of blue, green, and violet shimmering across its surface when touched by light. It was captivating and extremely scarce.

“I’m checking Johnson’s territory first. Nothing human or soft. I want the thick oak timbers kept raw, but the front bar needs heavy black stone, iron brackets, and deep fire-gems for lighting. Then we need thick leather benches that smell like a real winter nesting den.” “I can fell the timber and build the frames for you,” Corwin Blackmaw said, his deep voice rumbling from the dark corner by the hearth. “I can bring my wood-sketches tomorrow and measure the space. We can top the bar with dark river-granite or raw obsidian depending on how many silver tokens you want to throw at it.” “Every piece of stone comes from my quarry anyway,” Malakai Thornwolf rumbled, stretching his massive should

And so, they devised their scheme. The Grand Hall of the Obsidian Veil was a cathedral of power. Black stone columns soared towards vaulted ceilings, gilded with the threads of silver that caught the torchlight and shimmered like veins of intense moonlight. The floor was polished obsidian, so smooth it mirrored every step, forcing even the proudest noble to gaze upon their own reflection as they approached the throne.

Deep purple, swirling script and tiny inlayed gemstones decorate all the available covers space. ‘Witches – The origin of a species.’ I recognise some of the gems, others look like they could have been stolen away from other worlds. A milky white, opaque stone, with black veins and a blue hue in the right light, stands out above the rest. I would recognise a moonstone anywhere. My thumb glides over it’s cool, polished surface and a shiver runs up my arm. The freaked out little boy inside me, yells at me to put the book down. I’m not about to argue. I place it on the table beside me and reach for the next.

Deep within a labyrinthine network of caves, hidden far from prying eyes, lay a vast underground hall. The cavernous expanse was dimly illuminated by a crimson glow that pulsed from veins of glowing stone etched into the walls, resembling the flow of blood through ancient arteries. At the far end of the hall stood a black throne carved from obsidian, its surface lined with grooves resembling veins that glowed faintly red. The air was heavy, suffused with an oppressive aura that seemed to sap the strength of anyone who entered.