Cora Cartmell Novels & Stories

Mary Redferne As I followed my sister back to her bridal suite, and knocked on it, Clara didn’t open the door at first, but when I threatened to knock it down, she begrudgingly opened it. I felt bad as I saw her beautiful makeup turned into a puddle of tears that streaked down her face, her makeup still running as she cried her heart out.

When I sealed the last letter, I leaned back in my chair and looked out the window to clear my head. Cora appeared in the courtyard with a stack of books in her arms. She balanced them against her chest as she made her way across the stones and her steps were steady but slower than usual. She was trying hard and she was pushing herself and she was learning but she wouldn’t be ready in a week. Not her fault, she was being asked to change her entire life in a place that never made room for her. She paused near the entrance of the East Wing and shifted the books higher in her arms. A strand of her hair fell forward and she blew it out of her face and continued walking. I couldn’t look away, not

Smooth, Carpenter, really fucking smooth. "Hi." She waved her delicate hand in greeting. "I'm Cora." Her name rolled off her tongue like a song, pure and angelic, but sultry and seductive. Before I could ask her to switch seats with me or decide to sit next to her, an unwelcomed interruption barreled into my shoulder. "Carp, looks like your ass is relocating to the back."

Mrs Angela said, smiling gleefully. Tracy Molly turned, her radiant smile beaming as she showcased an effortless grace. Her poised demeanour was matched only by her stunning appearance. Her dress flowed elegantly around her, accentuating her feminine assets. Wade's eyes widened slightly in surprise as Tracy approached the table, her gaze meeting his. His mother, Mrs Angela, looked triumphant, clearly pleased with Tracy's grand entrance. "Isn't she beautiful, Wade?" Mrs Angela asked, her voice tinged with an air of assurance.

"Cora was three years old when the state shattered that house. She couldn't have been conditioned." "She was three when it ignited. But she possessed three decades to soak in it. Thomas nourished her with narratives. Sarah cemented them. Elise attempted to shield her, but Elise was dying. Cora is the final one still breathing. And she's been sharpening herself for this her entire existence." The door heaves open again. A woman steps inside, and every muscle in my body seizes. She's older than the photographs, her hair silver-gray, her face grooved and exhausted. But her eyes are January gray. The identical shade as Julian's. The identical shade as Elise's. The identical shade as every Halber

Cora kept the phone and leaned back on the chair. "The wedding is tomorrow, I'll get to see Bellamy. I wonder how he has been. He has changed after my death" Cora muttered, referring to her death as Natalia's death. . . The day came swiftly. Cora had an hangover that morning due to the excess wine. After curing her headache, she got dressed. The wedding gown was bought by Bellamy. It was an armless gown with long lace gloves. They are really beautiful, together with the veil.

Even Sandra, after a moment where she looked at the ceiling and exhaled through her nose very loudly like she was releasing something she had been holding, said, "Fine. But I am going to need the supplier contacts immediately and someone better have a proper workspace organized because I am not cutting fabric on a folding table, Hannah. I genuinely refuse." "I hear you, Sandra," I said, and I fully meant that. I had noticed from the start of the meeting that Cora had not said anything at all. Cora had been my head seamstress for two years. She was the type of woman who could look at a sketch and tell you exactly what was going to go wrong with it before you ever touched the fabric, and she n

It broke something in me every time I watched that particular kind of resignation cross her face. After dinner, Cora dragged out a box of crayons and made us each draw something, insisting we all show our pictures before bed like it was a rule she'd just invented. Camilla drew a house with too many windows. I drew something that was supposed to be a dog and came out looking more like a chair. Cora laughed so hard at mine she nearly fell off her seat, and for a few minutes none of us thought about courtrooms or trusts or anything waiting for us outside that kitchen.

And now… “Victor Kade,” she repeated, her tone calm, unnervingly so. “I think it is time we spoke. My name is Cora, and I have been waiting thirteen years to finish what Felix started.”

It was intense that she felt like she wanted to vomit. ‘She really can’t control her temper when teaching’ Catherine thought but it was understandable that her mother wanted this to be perfect. She knew that Anita was thinking of the future career of her students and that she wants all of them to stand out in their own way. “Elena, polish your second arabesque.” Anita once again shouted and she knew that those ballet dancers won’t get their break anytime soon if they keep disappointing her mother. Catherine started to write a story for her thesis to support her hypothesis and to strengthen the foundation of her data. Tragedy had always been her specialty so that is what her thesis is about –