Coraline Artbook の小説・ストーリー

Kaelen roared. ​His voice cut through the fog, snapping the Southern warriors out of their stupor. They reached for their weapons, their eyes scanning the dark water. Below the surface, a massive, glowing shape began to emerge. It wasn't a fish. It looked like a forest of moving coral, miles long, pulsing with the same sickly violet light that had consumed the woman at the Citadel. ​"The Coral-Spine is moving," Elara gasped.

Gabriel neither confirms nor denies seeing Daphne, though a few of the people who are brave enough to walk up to us react as though they know who I’m talking about. “So, you know her,” I say. “Where is she?” “That is the sorceress Coraline to tell, not us,” a small older woman says. Damon looks at the woman. “Coraline?” “Do you know who that is?” I ask. He doesn’t answer me but instead asks the woman, “What does she look like?” “Violet hair, grey eyes,” she says. I still don’t know what’s going on, but Damon’s eyes go wide. He starts to say something but then stops when another woman walks by with a basket full of herbs. He runs up to her and sniffs it. “What is this?” he demands.

I bit my lip hard, trying to focus on the pain, on anything except the steady vibration traveling through my lower body and the heat of his hand. He worked slowly, methodically… far more carefully than his attitude suggested. Each line of the moon, each delicate vine, was drawn with precision. But his commentary never stopped. Low, degrading murmurs about how ridiculous the design looked on someone like me, how I was clearly faking this whole edgy phase. By the time he’d finished most of the outline, I was a mess. Sweating lightly, thighs slick, nipples tight against my bra. The fresh ink burned like fire, but every shift of my hips sent sparks of unwanted pleasure through me.

So did I. Normal meant routine. Routine meant rhythm. Rhythm meant something predictable enough to exploit. We had to keep our rhythm—but make it unreadable. When I returned, Coral was standing near the tree line, staring toward the boundary. Not reaching. Just aware. I stepped beside her. “It didn’t move,” she said. “No.” “But it feels like it’s watching.” “It is watching.” I said, pulling Coral close to me. I wrapped my arms around her, burying my nose in her neck, inhaling her scent. I felt her worrying spike.

Heloise didn't take off her gloves and immediately picked up a brush. "I apologize, but I'd like to use the restroom before starting," Coral said with a smile. Naturally, no one would object, so Coral swiftly left the room, holding her skirt. Heloise stood in front of the canvas, watching Coral's retreating figure like she was escaping. Behind her mask, the corners of her lips curled with a mocking curve. Her fingers deftly tossed the brush in her hand into the air, caught it, dipped it in paint, and started painting on the canvas.

She has to find him no matter what! Flora started walking in the long corridor, discovering the department. It was vast with many rooms and no windows. It was dark with some yellow lamps on the walls that had a faint light. The corridor had very high sailing. Maybe five meters? Flora was not sure, for she wasn't able to see the sailing. It was too dark to be seen. The wall was full of paintings. But they were not any paintings. They were the gloomiest paintings Flora has ever seen. There were some good imitations of 'Massacre of the innocents, 'The Temptation of St. Anthony', 'The Nightmare', 'Hell', 'Saturn Devouring His Son', 'Diomedes Devoured by Horses', 'Smiling Spider' and 'The garden

The fabric is crisp, expensive, and feels like a straitjacket against the restless energy of my wolf. ​Beside me, Coralina looks like a vision of cold, structured power. She is wearing a tailored suit the color of midnight, her hair swept back to reveal the mark on her neck. It doesn't glow in this light, but I can feel it humming, a low-frequency vibration that matches the steady, rhythmic beat of my own heart.

POV: Corin Rain whispered against the stained-glass windows like restless fingers. The newly rebuilt fortress library stood in solemn silence, its towering shelves shining beneath the soft amber glow of lanterns suspended from iron chains. Colored light spilled across the polished stone floor in fractured pools of crimson, sapphire, and gold, cast by the moon-shaped designs embedded in the stained glass. Corin sat alone at the long oak table in the heart of the chamber, surrounded by maps, weathered journals, and scrolls that smelled faintly of dust and old candle wax. Outside, the storm gathered strength, the wind pressing against the windows with a mournful cry.

Coral was already making my skin itch, the telltale sign she’s ready and not taking no for an answer. “Sure I just need a robe,” I said, turning toward her. I blinked and we were in a bedroom, hers? It was yellow like her cute dress, and there was an insane amount of artwork on the walls. Bright and colorful, and I actually recognized one as Salvador Dali. Kind of hard to forget naked women posing to form a skull but it was intriguing no less. “Here you go. You can change in there,” she offered, handing me a pretty lavender colored robe with white flowers.

I put up three fingers pointing at each of three men individually to investigate the tunnel that grandmother and I would not be going down. Grandmother, one warrior, and I head to the right, while the other three warriors go straight. The walk down the new corridor seems more like a maze, it turns right then left, shocking us with a creature that jumps out spitting fire. I conjured up a fireball in retaliation. However, my grandmother puts her hand on my arm mind-linking me and the warrior. It is just an illusion. We continue to walk forward through the tunnels of fright mares. Once we have saved the children, we can make it into a Halloween extravaganza.