Booktok Powerless Romane & Geschichten

"So that's why I said that you don't have to be scared of anything...." She said as she takes breathe. "Because it is a book of protection, so you don't need to be scared of it" "You understand what an saying!?" She asked the class as she looks at the one that was being afraid before. And the guy as well joined others nods proving that they are really understand what she is explaining to them. "So... I did this book because I realized that many of you can't make use of your superpowers" "And that's always why your enemies always get into you guys and take whatever they want!"

I let the question exist without urgency. Then I ask another. Am I more myself than I was before? The answer is undeniable. Yes. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it costs access. Even when it shifts the room. Especially then. Because power that depends on your compliance was never yours to begin with. True power isn’t loud. It isn’t imposed. It’s the quiet authority of not needing permission to be coherent. The chapter ends without applause. No dramatic win. No public recognition. Just an internal settling.

Kayla Pov I woke up in a dark room. At first, I thought maybe I was in my room with my loves, but as my eyesight comes into view, I know that's not the case. I was in a dungeon before this. Now, I know exactly where I am. How could I not? I spent years in this room. Marked up the rooms to keep the tally of the date, stained the mat with piss, blood. This little room carries much of my trauma. I tried banging on the door. I try using my powers, but I'm unable to. Something is blocking my powers. I feel incredibly weak

Del, who had now become a trusted friend, bravely volunteered to be my initial subject, standing by my side as I attempted to unlock the full potential of my powers. In the beginning, I found myself perplexed and frustrated as my attempts yielded no discernible results. It was as if my powers were dormant, resisting my will. Doubt lingered in my mind, but I was determined to persevere. Del, though unaffected, reassured me, offering unwavering support. It was during a conversation with Silver that I learnt a piece of the puzzle. Silver explained that my powers required a specific trigger to manifest effectively—an intense fight or flight situation that would awaken the dormant potential withi

I turned and slipped away, my thoughts still in turmoil. The library. I needed answers, and I knew exactly where to look. The noise of the festival faded behind me as I entered the vast room of books. Making my way to the shelf where Sage had retrieved the book before, I carefully pulled it out and opened it. My breath caught in my throat as the words on the aged pages sent a chill down my spine. “The wielder of this power should find their strength tied to the emotions of those around them. Their voice, an instrument of devastation. When charged with sorrow, rage, or despair, the echoes of their cry shall lay waste to all in their path.”

“Same with Feyre and Rhysand. He’s more powerful, but he listens. She challenges him. The abuse doesn’t come from power—it comes from how that power is wielded.” A low murmur of approval ripples through the room. Lucien’s gaze sharpens. “So you’re saying power isn’t the problem. Ego is.” “Yes,” Ivy says, unwavering. “Power is like fire. It only burns when it’s used to dominate instead of warm.” Lucien walks closer to her, unreadable. “And if one party enjoys being powerless?” Ivy meets his gaze. “Then that’s still choice. And choice is power.” Silence, thick and electric.

I retorted. "No. Her source of power is now void, and that means she is powerless, at least for now. She had a certain warrior, named Ubuntu; he was Cassandra's war machine who possessed infinite dark powers, but Ubuntu and his shady warriors, have all been disenfranchised by a more powerful being…" I listened intently as Rema relayed the events that had just transpired in Cassandra's chambers. I could barely contain my glee when I heard that Cassandra's warriors were now powerless.

Powerlessness against power. — Look at yourself, he says softly. Look at the woman who thought she could defy a Tsar with a table knife. It's pathetic. The rage inside me explodes into silent sobs, violent spasms I can't contain. Hot tears stream down my cheeks, betraying my defeat, my shame, my absolute weakness. — Cry, he says, almost kindly. Cry for your stupidity. Cry for your bodyguard's death. Cry for your own powerlessness. It's the only thing you can do freely now.

A woman who had lost everything… her power, her leverage, her security. I let out a choked sob, clutching my arms as if I could physically hold myself together. It felt awful. It felt unbearable. The bitter taste of powerlessness settled on my tongue, and I hated it more than anything. It was like being a ragdoll, tossed around, stepped on, discarded when no longer of use. And I refused to live like this.