Crimson Aesthetics Novels & Stories

Nakangiting pagpapaunlak ko at inalalayan si Crimson papasok sa entrance ng venue. ⚘ little ⊹ lies ··································································································································

Harsh, violent and doesn't even care if she's bruised or in pain. Crystal got herself over with that relationship, she believed that Leo became a monster, that he became too addicted to it, and only wants her for pleasure and not for love that she... needs. And so she left. But Leo, he tried looking for her. Yet he never found her. So he found himself a habit... seeking for a woman who's likely to be a bit familiar with her face. With her hair and eyes, but nothing. And so he tried to just forget about her, used the women to do it, he found some women who loved the way he want it to do, some were forced, some almost died from his deadly touch. Yet none of them made him forget about her. Her

“So, I made myself a name! Christine, the Sorcerer of the West. It has a nice ring to it and it does sound youthful too!” Everyone thought that Christine was not scary at all. She was nice and very fun. Well, at least she broke the witch stereotype. “Now let’s discuss why you’re here.” Suddenly, the room became serious. The lively energy was gone as Christine’s face went serious. “Why are we here?” Azrael asked to lessen the tension “Azrael, you are here to stop Brody.” And in a single breathe, Christine showed them the visual of the Crimson Crest Pack.

Alexis waited like forever to hear what crimson have for her because she knows what her smirk is saying. "Well, I just ordered for a fertilizer farm to open where animals will be rear there, and whenever they defecate, it is your duty Alexis to store the shits for us and since you are so brave to take over the pack, I'm sure you don't need anyone's help In storing the shits for us." Crimson exclaimed and smirked, her eyes fixed on Alexis, Alexis looked like she will explode.

He returned a minute later, holding a small, crystal decanter filled with a liquid that swirled with deep, luminescent crimson—like captured memory and blood. The Crimson Reminiscence. A rare, potent elixir that compelled absolute truth from a vampire for a short time. It was not used lightly. It stripped away all pretense, all defense. Without a word, he uncorked it and drank. His eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened, they held a raw, vulnerable intensity I had never seen.

Moore asks. I use the link hoping that Jamie will naturally answer for me. “He says that before leaving Crimson Dawn Alpha Black gave him one milligram of sublingual Ativan. Half takes the edge off, one helps him sleep.” Jamie doesn’t fail to relay my message. “What are your names?” “I’m Jamison Williams and he’s Cole Redmen.” Jamie answers easily as we slowly make our way across the room. “What are your ranks?” It seems rank means a lot to this pack. “The seat he wants you in is right behind you. All you have to do is sit.”

ILANA. The Blood Moon Festival came five days too early. On the third evening, the moon bathed its eerie, crimson glow over the Nightshade Pack. This was an event rarely experienced and considered by the pack to be a sign from the Moon Goddess, hastening the fate of two destined mates. The pack was in an uproar of joyful frenzy. The whole of the pack square hummed with excitement, as though even the air vibrated in anticipation. I faltered at the door to Rana's small cabin and brushed off invisible lint from the pale blue dress that Rana had lent me for tonight. "Rana, are you sure about this?" I asked, trying to keep the nerves from edging my voice.

"Tell me all you know of Amara." Thalia begins to explain, her voice steady and filled with conviction. "Amara is unique, King Badan. I believe she is a hybrid—half wolf or lycan, mixed with witch's blood. If my suspicions are correct, she is the last descendant of the Crimson pack, making her royalty. It seems that she was bound as a baby to hide the immense power she holds within, and her counterpart was bound to never surface."

Not silver. Crimson. And they were smiling.

The stench of cordite and copper ink still clung to the silk wall coverings of the grand salon, but the blood had been sanitized. Two junior enforcers had scrubbed the parquet floor with industrial bleach, leaving a pale, chemical halo where Enzo Vanni’s head had rested less than twenty minutes ago. Outside, the pre-dawn sky had bruised into a dark, suffocating purple, the storm over Lake Como slowly exhausting its kinetic fury into a thick, low-hanging fog.