Blackstone Surround Table Novels & Stories

No one knows how they appear, they simply exist, perfect and immutable, summoned by the will of the universe itself. I stride toward the head of the table, where my chair looms like a dark throne, demanding reverence. It’s massive, not just built for my size but forged as a symbol of dominance and authority. The high back curves upward, stretching toward the vaulted ceiling. Crafted from obsidian wood, its surface gleams faintly, catching the flickering light of the chandeliers. Intricate wolf motifs prowl across the polished surface, snarling faces locked in eternal rage, teeth bared and claws tearing into the arms.

As soon as we walked in the door some people stopped and stared at us. Louise didn’t seem to mind. We just took a step to the side so we weren’t blocking the entrance and look at our surroundings. There where around 15 long cherry tables throughout the room. One of them being placed at the very front and center for the Alpha, Luna, Beta and their families. Each one with delicately crafted high back chairs with Silver Moon pack inscribed on the back. There had be over 70 people in here right now. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at Louise.

Jay was enjoying a friend’s birthday party and decided to get laid with at least two to three women but his father ruined his plans for tonight. Miranda and Terry are sitting on the lavish sofas in the living room, chatting when David Nashville walks forward, greeting his wife, he shows no expression, “Hello, Miranda.” It is almost dinner time and David Nashville arrives at the dining table, followed by Terry and Miranda. The dinner table is the centerpiece of a well-appointed dining room. It is adorned with an elegant tablecloth, impeccably pressed, and a rustic wooden surface that exudes charm. The table is set with gleaming silverware, polished glasses, and neatly folded napkins, creating

“Trust me.” We stepped into the penthouse. The dining room of the pocket dimension was as impressive as the rest of the apartment. A mahogany table that could comfortably seat twelve, chairs upholstered in wine-colored velvet, a black crystal chandelier hanging over the center like a jewel. The velvet curtains were open, revealing the false window that showed a nonexistent twilight sky. On the table, five sets of silverware gleamed under the golden light. “This is an exaggeration,” I declared. “This is a business dinner.” Mortyss pulled out a chair for me. “Sit down.”

This was the best table in the entire place. “Champagne?” Charles offered as we took our seats at the comfortable lounge table. The table was round and made of reflective glass, while two benches wrapped around it. The seats were velvety and helped insulate from the sound below us so we could hold a conversation. Two bottles of Dom Perignon were waiting for us. I nodded, completely impressed.

Blackthorn was a smaller territory west of the Raven Creek known for its wine. I didn't know much, just the limited information available to me. The meeting went on, and I sat quickly like a decorative piece waiting for when I was needed. The staff moved quietly in the background, refilling drinks and adjusting settings on the table, as if every little detail mattered. And yeah, it did. I glanced around once more, still amazed by how perfect the setup was. High above the world, with the city lights all around us, it felt like we were in our own little world. A place made for power and quiet deals.

Thorny brambles surrounded it on all sides and the pavement was cracked beyond recognition. But that was where the similarities ended. The edges were ringed by scarlet candles melted onto gravestones. A single table stood at its center, covered by black silk. Two stumps stood at each end with tasseled golden pillows, serving as chairs. A tarnished silver tea set shone at the table's center and plates of red china sat at each place, piled high with biscuits and pastries.

Melodias Bluemoon Here I am now sitting beside the woman in black, frowning because she had the audacity to ruin my table top. This mahogany table came from the Southern Kingdom, made by the most skilled craftsman. The Bluemoon crest was carved skillfully in the middle of the table. Now the crest looked like something that came out of a horror movie. “This coffee tastes good.” She said with a smile, as if minutes ago she wasn’t trying to take my life. “Thanks.”

I yelled. We all sat down around the table. Our dining table was not so elegant, but one could tell it was rich. The table was made with one of the most expensive marbles, painted black with gold diagram designs at strategic places on the table. The feet of the table were adorned with shiny glass materials that also carried gold-like structure designs on them. It was elegant but not the kind of elegance you would say for a dining at the Lorenzo dynasty.

The exquisite chairs that encircled the table, sufficient to accommodate a party of twelve, were meticulously crafted from African Blackwood, a timber renowned for its rarity and astronomical price tag. As my gaze wandered across the room, I couldn't help but notice the floor to ceiling windows that adorned the walls, inviting streams of natural light to flood the room. Through these magnificent windows, I was treated to a breathtaking view of the extensive and meticulously manicured lawn that stretched out before me. The lush expanse seemed to go on for miles, leaving me in awe of the sheer grandeur of the property. I hadn’t seen any helper or maid throughout the area, not even a single sou