روايات وقصص ضمن Court Of Dreams

Back then, my head was full of love, like a dream made of cotton candy. Who could have guessed that I would return here three years later—not in a wedding dress, not hand in hand with him, with smiles on our faces, but quietly moving through empty aisles. Jason didn't say a word. He just watched as I wandered through the church. His eyes darkened, as if finally understanding something. To be honest, he looked worse than I did. He was so skinny that he looked bony, his face was ghostly pale, and he was so frail that a gust of wind could knock him over.

I stood in the defendant's seat in Scumbag Court as a bailiff put the memory-retrieval helmet on me. The judge, Aiden Faire, mechanically informed me of the precautions, "Once the Judgement Helmet has been worn, you'll be deemed guilty if you back out midway. Your life will be forfeit. Are you sure you wish to put on the helmet, Hanson Quill?" My heart did not waver in the slightest. I nodded firmly. Charlene Weber looked at me with a trace of guilt in her eyes.

Just for a second. Because he wasn’t entirely wrong. She remembered the strange dreams she’d been having lately—visions of dark forests, silver moons, whispers calling her name. She’d thought it was stress. Or too many late-night fantasy binge reads. But now, those dreams felt like memories surfacing from somewhere ancient, primal. Still, she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “Don’t talk to me like you know me,” she snapped. “You don’t. You’re just some... some bloodsucking control freak who thinks fate gives him ownership over women.”

Lyanna said, her voice soft but firm, “Tell me what’s going on. What exactly have these dreams been like?” I rubbed my hands over my face, exhaustion taking over as I relived the nightmare that had plagued me once again. “It’s always the same,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “I’m standing in a dark room, and Dorian’s there—his voice echoing in my mind. He keeps telling me I’ve lost everything, that my empire is falling apart. But it’s not just him. There’s something else, someone else. I don’t know who or what it is, but it feels like they’re controlling me. Watching me. Making me question everything.”

Miles wore an ill-fitting suit, his eyes wide and round. He looked at me in confusion, then pointed at himself, his mouth forming a perfect O. “Huh? “Me?” I bent down and sat in the armchair across from him. “Mr. Langford, you’ve been handling Harbor City’s fuel trades all this time, haven’t you? “Don’t you want to scale it up?” Miles froze, his finger still resting on his phone screen.

"After this, we're still competitors. We're still rivals." "I know." He cupped my breast, his thumb brushing across my nipple, and I gasped. "We'll probably end up in court over something next week." "Definitely." My hands moved to his pants, undoing the button, lowering the zipper. His cock sprang free, and I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly. "I'm still going to destroy you in the Kensington deal." "We'll see about that." He groaned as I increased my pace. "Right now, I'm destroying you."

She didn’t need to see the throne room to know who waited beyond those doors. No. The word screamed through her mind. This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t a dream meant to be walked. This was forbidden ground—sealed, protected, off-limits. Panic fluttered in her chest as she tried to pull herself back. Tried to seize control of the dream the way she always did. Nothing happened. The world didn’t bend. Didn’t blur. Didn’t release her. It was as if the dream itself had frozen—locked in place, rigid and unyielding, just like the Court around her.

He had never truly cared enough about me to examine the engagement token carefully. Nevertheless, I remembered it perfectly. "The pendant has two dragons wrapped around a ruby. The goldwork twists their bodies together around the stone. And there's a tiny yellow mark on one side—a small flaw." I had worn that pendant constantly until I turned twenty. Every detail of it was burned into my memory. Nova lifted the pendant and examined it from front to back. Then she turned and smiled at Ryder. "Even if it is Lyra's… I kind of like it now. Do I have to give it back?"

And of course, there’s the scar: a jagged line of red across my throat telling the story of how close I came to dying. “You look like shit, Daciana,” I tell my reflection before heading back to my room. Sleep is impossible now. It always is after the nightmare. Ever since the Snow Mountain delegation arrived at court eight weeks ago now, I’ve been plagued with these dreams. I’ve never told anyone about them. They vary sometimes in small ways—the forest path is different, or the words of my pursuers change—but it always ends the same way. Me, bleeding out in the snow, desperately trying to protect a child that doesn’t exist. A child I’ve never had. A future I’ve never imagined.

His body sank into the soft mattress, and sleep claimed him, but his dreams were not peaceful. --- In his dream, David saw the mansion, large and bright, but something was wrong. Shadows moved in the corners, dark and dangerous. He could hear muffled voices whispering threats, voices that sounded like Clark’s but distorted, cruel. He saw a figure approaching him, quick and silent. He recognized the face instantly—Clark, but his eyes were dark, filled with rage and obsession. In his dream, Clark’s hand reached toward Judy, who was standing behind David, unaware of the danger.