Bleeding Hearts Novelas e Histórias

Yang Tian-Xu needed a reason, any reason will do. “Even if you lie to me… I would still believe you. So please An-An… Say something…” A heart was a fragile organ in the human body. But what makes it beat wasn’t love, but blood. But what makes love beats? Could it be the brain? Emotions? But what stops love from beating? Hatred? Betrayal? Would his love began to bleed like a heart when it gets ripped out of his chest? Who can say that their hearts can still beat, when it was cut out and rip into pieces?

It was cold. My body was in tremendous agony. I was soaked in a pool of blood. I tried to move, but piercing pain circled through my veins. My heartbeat was wild. I inhaled deeply, trying to get some air, and at this moment, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Weakly I lifted my head and saw a bleeding hole below my heart.

The words felt dry in her mouth, like pebbles in a dried-up well. Love had once been her refuge. Now it had become her deepest wound. How could anyone continue believing in something destroyed by the very person who carried it? Then her tears erupted again. But this time, they were harder and more violent. They were not fleeting tears. They were an internal bleeding, as though her soul had decided to breathe through wounds no one could see. She felt the coldness of her face as she tried to hide it behind her hands, as though she could conceal the pain in her heart even from herself.

I shook my head and kept my eyes on the wound, recalling the warning Damon had given me about Bloodroot. In certain rare disorders, the plant may boil the blood off entirely, or turn it solid in the vein. I wracked my mind to think of the disorders I had read about in the chapter after the cafe. There were only two. Silverheart was one, an extremely rare disorder only seen amongst wolf shifters, where accidental silver consumption during gestation could cause the baby’s blood to contain flecks of silver dust, making them allergic to many medicines commonly used on wolves.

The blade sank into my chest. Blood burst out in a hot rush. My artificial heart stopped—completely. My body went weightless, drifting upward like smoke. Through blurred vision, I watched Claire's face twist into something broken. She screamed my name. "Wesley!" My soul grew lighter. I saw myself collapse in her arms, blood pouring from the wound. She clamped both hands over it, pressing hard, trying to stop the flow. But the more she pushed, the more it gushed—seeping through her fingers, spilling everywhere, unstoppable.

She would do anything. "Second," Iris continued, "you'll need the buds of a certain plant. The one with red petals and a black center. The one that the red-haired woman showed you at the rogue king's palace. Heartbloom, she called it. It has the power to heal the deepest wounds, to cure poisons, to restore what has been broken." Gianna remembered those gardens, the strange and beautiful plants growing in that hidden space. She had seen Heartbloom there. She knew what it looked like.

The warmth radiating from him was unbearable and excruciating. When he thought the desperation and burning were the worst of it, a new pang attacked. A brutal bolt sprouted from his head and increased to his heart, resulting in him arching from the hay bed. His exhausted howls find themselves a whine that left him in a fragile state. His hands clutched his heart when it beat harder and harder. He pulled his fists away and shouted in horror at the sight of his arms. It was burning green and orange.

His heart, a flourishing garden, intricately woven with threads of dreams turned into reality, pulsated with an unparalleled intensity. In this magical moment, his heart orchestrated a symphony, ringing bells that echoed the harmonious melody of their connection. The beats of his heart danced between the gentle notes of a slow ballad and the rapid tempo of an enraptured sonnet. His cheeks mirrored the hues of a twilight sky, blushing with the warmth of love, and his countenance radiated a glow reminiscent of a fully bloomed rose.

I got into my car and slammed the door shut, resting my head on the steering wheel as the tears flowed freely. I cried and screamed, no longer trying to hold it in. My knuckles were white from clenching my fists and my palms were red from my nails digging into them. But none of it compared to the pain in my heart. It felt like five years ago, replayed in a whole different scenario. That jerk, Alfred. I looked out the window, my eyes landing on the spot where we stood last night. I grunted, closing my eyes and turning away. "I'm so stupid"

His head gradually tilt upwards. I gasp. His eyes glow. They are red. Deepened red. They're my doom. They're all colour red. Not painful red from my plunged claws into his chest. They're all scary and threatening alpha red!. My agape lips tremble. Am done for. I really am done. No two ways or escape route about it. All pulling effort prove futile. Am stuck. Deeply stuck within his chest. He's got an open chest and a bleeding heart but I remain the scardy cat.