"burn Those Who Burned Me!" Novels & Stories

"I don't believe in miracles anymore, Ben. I believe in stubbornly refusing to die. There's a difference." "Is there?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Sometimes I think your stubborn refusal to give up is the closest thing to a miracle I've seen since The Burning." The mention of The Burning made my chest tighten, as it always did. The memories were still too fresh, too raw. I could still smell the smoke, hear the screms, see the sky turning that terrible shade of orange as the world caught fire. I pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Then let's go. Prep the men. We move out in two hours. I want that warehouse to be nothing but a memory before sunrise." They stand up. They leave. I am alone in the room, facing the screens. I think of Tara. Of her body going limp when the needle sank in. Of her eyes glazing over. Of that last word on her lips. Burn. I will burn, my love. I will burn so brightly that even the angels will weep. Wait for me. I'm coming for you. And then, we'll burn together. ---

“I’ve done everything you've ever asked, you good-for-nothing bastard. I let you use all sorts of chemicals on me just so I can look like different people. I let you talk down on me and walk all over me like I was nothing, all because of that damn antidote, and you think you can abandon me now. I promise you, I will burn it all to the ground. Do you hear me, Micheal Wilmington, I’ll burn everything to the ground.” I stopped, turning back to her.

This time she would let them all BURN. A/N: Say that burn with style. Ha-Ha-Ha (laughing like an evil scientist)

“Burn the witches!” They threw in the burning wood and we went up in flames. With the fire burning through my veins, I screamed the spell. "By the flames that take my flesh, I rise anew from fire’s breath. Your hate shall feed my wrath untamed, In death, I live, your souls I claim. As I burn, so shall you, From this pyre, my power grew. The smoke you breathe, the ash you tread, I will return, the unforgiven dead.

By the third year of Roxanne Duranov's affair, Fredrick Tatham had finally become the husband she had always wanted. He no longer barged into hotels in the middle of the night to catch her with another man. He no longer demanded to know where she had spent the night. Nor did he resort to desperate acts of self-harm in a frantic attempt to hold on to a woman whose heart had long since drifted away. He had become as inconspicuous as an ordinary piece of furniture in the villa, quiet and unobtrusive, never making his presence felt. Then, one day, the hospital called. An urgent voice came through the phone. "Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Duranov's husband? She's been in a serious car accident

LUCIAN Burn the bridges. It was a phrase I’d forever carry with me so long as I still had fire burning through my veins. The first howl shattered the night like a blade through glass. It rose from the front lines, raw, furious and unrestrained. It was answered immediately by dozens more.

“Nah this Bennett woman is purely unhinged. Imagine being a grown-ass senior dev and doing script-kiddie revenge plots because you got replaced by a Gen Z intern lmao.” “The scriptwriters are cooking today! Bitter boomer dev tries to ruin the company, gets entirely wiped out by a literal intern. The satisfaction is real!” “Karma hit her like a truck! Keep crying, Bennett! You wanted to catch hands in the office, now you’re getting blacklisted globally.” “Protect Chloe at all costs! 🥺 Clean code, zero drama, and she actually carries the entire company. A humble queen!” “Cancel her permanently! Drop her LinkedIn, leak her GitHub, make sure this toxic cancer never touches a single line of code

The heels were resting in my lap like a heavy weight of shame. "If you're not going to wear them," Tucker said sharply, "then give them to Shelby yourself. That can be your apology." He slid the shoes toward me with quiet contempt, as though my hesitation merely proved my ingratitude. "Shelby's always been kind enough to overlook your little games," he added. His tone was sharp and unforgiving. "She won't hold it against you." Those elegant heels now felt like sharp knives digging into my heart. Every burn on my legs throbbed fiercely. They were a brutal reminder of his cruelty.

Instead, it was to honor my father's legacy. Before long, the Moretti family returned to its former glory. We became the strongest force in the underworld, and I was known as the coldest, most untouchable woman. The old me died in that fire, yet from its ashes, I rose anew. What the flames didn't consume was my heart. It still burned, but it would ache for no one ever again.