Blood On My Hands Book Novels & Stories

I thought of the world that was currently waking up to a silence it didn’t understand. But as I felt that tiny, second heartbeat pulse against my palm, I didn’t feel like a fugitive. I didn’t feel like a victim of a global conspiracy. I felt like an Architect. The first book was about the blood. It was about the betrayal and the breaking of the old world. It was about the trauma of the glass and the roar of the mountain. But the second book? The one we were starting right now, in this quiet French valley? That book was going to be about the Home.

The question pipp out in my head while hesitatingly taking the book out. "Take out that white cloth and placed it against your right palm." Glancing around to see if I could see anything or exactly where the voice was coming from, I did as told anyway. With trembling hands, I grabbed the immaculate white cloth and pressed it against my palm, in less than a second, I felt a quick pain as of something poked my hand and so I took the cloth off, releasing the blood. "Isn't it just…" With wide eyes, I watched my blood trailing down to the book that seemed so old at the same time, new. "What the…"

But something made me pick it up and flip to the first page. The handwriting was barely legible. Messy scrawls that slanted across the page in red ink. Some words were pressed so hard into the paper that they’d torn through to the next page. Others were so light I could barely make them out. “Can’t stop seeing it. Over and over. Blood everywhere. Her eyes. Dead eyes. My hands. Always my hands.” “What the hell…?” I whispered. That was probably where I should have stopped, but I couldn’t help it. I flipped to the next page.

Although physically clean, she still saw the crimson stains, still felt the warmth of the blood lingering on her flesh even though the cold water was drenching her. "Blood... I can feel it," she whispered, her voice barely audible."There's blood on my hands." she murmured, her words barely escaping her lips. Killian's brow furrowed in confusion as he observed Amara's trembling hands. There was no trace of blood on her skin. She stared at her hands, watching as the crimson stains deepened, spreading like a malevolent ink on her skin. With each passing moment, the blood seemed to seep and spread further into her skin.

Well, this is part of the cross and she will bear it, no matter what. A short scream of pain escaped her lips when something pricked her index finger which she had left on the strange book. Olivera looked down, amazed when a tiny droplet of her blood lingered on the book that she had on her lap. Lingered in a circle inside a circle, the only drawing on the first page.

“Look at your hands.” My hands felt unsteady as I raised them, only daring to look once they hovered in front of my face. Cold shivers ran down my spine when I saw it. The blood on my palms darkened, thickening, dripping onto the floor—yet Axel’s wound stayed open, never emptying. “N-No,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes. “I… I can’t have your blood in my hands.” Axel stepped forward, trying to reach for my wrist, but I quickened my steps.

"Show me your wrist," I raised my left hand. She reached for it and looked at it intently. I moaned when she pressed my red wrist. "Hmm... what happened? Why is it red?" She asked while frowning at my wrist. "Ah..." should I say it? "I don't know. I-It suddenly became like that when I woke up earlier," I lied. "Is that so? Maybe you bumped into someone while you were sleeping or someone touched you while you were sleeping because there are handprints," she said, nodding.

She's losing air in her lungs but no matter how much she tried to be in control of her hands, it's not working. 'Help me.' Still struggling to get her hands off her neck she felt a cold thick liquid on her head. Surprisingly, she can move her hands again. She touched her hair and looked to her hands after. It was a sticky red liquid. She moved her hands smell the red thing on her hand. "I-It's blood," she said. Upon looking at it, like a raindrop, blood dropped to her hands, consecutively. "N-No, n-no, no!"

My white hair more enhanced than before. I'm in a white dress which is stained with blood. I try to smoothen down the wrinkles in my dress but it keeps on getting stained by blood. I was wondering where the blood is coming from when I felt blood trickle down my hands. My hands were shaky as I open them. I need to be sure the blood is not coming from me but who am I kidding , my hands are coated with blood. I looked at the dead bodies around me, wondering with fear gripping me if I had been the cause for this massacre.

even my own words failed me as I raised my hand to my face. "What have you done!" The man in front of me screamed in Horror, panicking I shook my head in disbelief. "No…no, this can't be.." I cried, shaking my head. The heavy metallic scent is now very evident in the air. The smell of blood. “Blo…Bloo…Blood,” I struggled to say the word, blood in my hands and a lifeless body in the pool of blood. Bloody hands I have no recollection of how it came about. He approached, his steps slow and deliberate. I watched as he walked past me to touch the body laying behind me.