Cress Novels & Stories

At his feet lay a handful of wild fruits, dried provisions, and medicinal herbs. "Is this Blood Vein Ginthera?" Chase picked up a bright red, flame-like fruit, sniffing it curiously. Blood Vein Ginthera—a rare medicinal herb that grew deep within untamed forests. It was exceptionally rare and had remarkable effects on strengthening the body.

She had her own fragrance, a soft hint of citrus since her bath. Razak understood why I sniffed the air and began to follow. If a beast like him could smile, he would. He trotted back to the cave, waiting for me to follow, but I had other important things. Hiding the scent of Odessa so no other fairy or vampire could find her. She would hide within the walls of my cave until they stopped looking. And they would stop looking, for the plan I had would make them think she was dead. A Fernleaf Yellowcress was a plant that lived deep in the forest under wet and damp areas. Typically found in summer because of their love for humid climates, it would be difficult to

“They’re gaining. I can hear them calling my name.” “Stay low,” Ezra urged. “We’ll lose them in the underbrush.” They spotted a small, shadowed depression behind a dense wall of thick bushes and ferns. Squeezing in together, the space proved even tighter than expected. Their bodies pressed close—chests heaving, shoulders brushing, faces mere inches apart in the near-total darkness. The moonlight barely filtered through the leaves above, casting faint patterns across their skin. The air between them felt electric, charged with adrenaline, fear, and something deeper neither had fully named.

Crete — Just Before Dawn The climb was brutal. The rocks were jagged and loose, shifting under Ellie’s boots as she scrambled higher. Her lungs burned, but she kept going, one hand on the weathered limestone, the other steadying the scroll case slung at her hip. Cerebus padded behind her, silent as shadow despite his size, while Dr. Voss struggled with her satchel of artifacts. When they crested the ridge, the horizon opened wide before them.

Cress coordinating eight territories simultaneously with the focused precision of someone doing the exact work they were built for. All of it moving. All of it real. All of it being carried forward by people who had been given the conditions to grow and had done what living things did. Grown. She thought about the wooden box. The chalk mark. The rosemary sprig. The pencil stub. The artifacts of the before. She thought about what the after looked like. Not triumphant. Not finished. Just full. A life full of the specific density of real things. Real work and real people and real ground and real growing.

COPYRIGHT 2020 A SHODIMU SOPHIA, DREAM_WRITER11 NOVEL. FRENCH ROSE. Written from Christina King’s point of view. Three. I could hear her footsteps getting louder as that second passed. It was a little slower than I expected considering she yelled my name thrice already. It was a struggle to pretend I was still asleep. I didn't know why but it just wasn't my thing. I would try my best and still get caught at the end of the day.

Later in the evening~ Cressida entered the room, cradling a plate of food in her hands like a delicate treasure. She approached the couch with measured steps, setting the plate down on the table with precision. Alaric’s eyes lifted from his phone, his gaze drifting to her. “What’s that?” He asked, his voice laced with curiosity. “Your food,” Cressida replied, beaming. “I figured you might be starving since morning, so I whipped up some instant noodles. Wish I knew your favorite meal without having to ask—I’d have surprised you with that.”

"She's not wrong to be scared. Those three have been hunting new students for years. They're not going to stop until they expose you." "Then I'll give them something to see." Raven grabbed my wrist. "Cressida. What are you going to do?" "Win," I said. After lunch, Raven dragged me to the greenhouse. The glass dome was warm and humid, a sharp contrast to the frozen world outside. Morwenna's plants thrived here; ferns, orchids, a tree I didn't recognize growing from the center of the floor. The air smelled of soil and green things. Raven sat on a stone bench and pulled me down beside her.

Cressida blamed Zoe and Ryder for everything bad that had happened to her recently. She stopped suddenly on a spell that she had forgotten about. As she read over it, Cressida began getting excited. It was perfect. Now she just had to get her hands on the couple. Once she had them, she'd use magic to make them do what she wanted. The name of the spell she chose was called Fine Evocation of Good and Terror. With this spell, the more pure and good the victims were, the more terror they would experience.

The walls were lined with shelves—hundreds of them—filled with cassettes. Some labeled. Some not. J-2. J-3. J-4. All the way up to J-32. I stopped breathing. “They’re all yours,” Beverly said, stunned. “No,” I whispered. “They’re not.” She turned to me. “They’re me,” I clarified. “But they’re not mine. They’re… versions.” The air shimmered faintly as I stepped closer to the shelf. The cassettes seemed to hum. On the floor in the center of the room was a chair. Simple. Wooden. But strapped to it were thick leather restraints—arms, ankles, chest.