Crooked Letter Novels & Stories

“Tell me.” She hesitated, then turned her sketchbook around, revealing pages filled with color-infused letters. “I’ve been thinking about how colors can be letters—how they can write what words can’t. I want to create something called ‘Letters in Color.’ Not just a mural, but a story told through shades and strokes.” Franc’s eyes lit up with understanding. “A conversation without words.” Jo nodded. “Exactly.” Yam sipped his tea thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s not just your story. Maybe each color is a letter from different people.”

The stroke he'd suffered two days before had robbed him of his ability to move except for one hand, which he tried to raise. "Letters." The word escaped the old man's lips. "Must giveto Rosalind." "Letters? What letters?" Brodie drifted a step closer to his father as though torn between curiosity and hesitancy. "Underme." Montgomery's gaze dropped down to his lower back. Brodie lifted up the feather mattress and dug around for a minute before his hand halted. Brock watched his younger brother pull out a stack of letters, yellowed with age and bound with twine. Brodie handed them to Brock and looked back to his father.

Teenage boys are too easily tempted, he murmured as a quick smile escaped his lips and disappeared the moment it appeared. He retracted his cockhead that was stretched forward to hear all that was conspiring between those two, he then wanted to turn back when he mistakenly hit a book that was on the shelf. It fell with a loud thud and the sound seems to have echoed throughout the library creating awareness that there was also someone else in there. He felt unease and pressed his lips into a thin line.

He knew how these yokels think. Sure, Paul and his light skirt had their high and mighty friends that snubbed their noses at everyone they found beneath them, which was half the population. He figured Kyle's money would take care of that. The boy had more money than Croesus, and he was sure not one of these snot-nosed kids around here could hold a candle to his boy.

I just couldn't take the nonsense anymore. "I'm glad you find this funny. Also, this position has been occupied. I have to say, signing the company in our names was the only smart decision I know you've made all your life. But I can't be as ungrateful as you, hmmm, but I can arrange a nice position for you" he said biting his fingers, acting like he was actually considering something.

Zadicus smiled, doing the same gesturing, releasing a miserable tear as well, replying truthfully, “No, Brother, It will never.”

Alpha Clause walked towards the bedroom to check it while my eyes fell on a paper under the plate of finished food. I made my way to it and pulled the paper out from the plate then unfolded it to see that it was a handwritten letter. It seemed like a coded message as it had only six letters on it, C, S, W, N, M, R. My brows furrowed in confusion as I thought about it for a while. I looked over at the brown haired rogue as I asked him, "Hey, do you know what this means?" I held up the letter for him to see as he nodded, "Yes and no. I don't know what he means in the message, but I know that he uses the Five Alpha's initials when he makes a plan on paper."

“In the real letter, I make them with a single stroke. But in this fake one, they’re formed differently—two separate strokes.” He was right. Now that I was looking for it, I could see the subtle differences. Whoever had forged the letter had done a good job, but it wasn’t perfect. “And here,” Isaac continued, pointing to another word. “The way I form my ‘g’s. These ones are more circular than mine.” I stared at the documents spread across my desk for a long time. Maybe too long, but Isaac didn’t speak, didn’t try to interrupt the whirling of my mind. He was right—he was fucking right.

I had no business there and I didn’t know anyone. Unhesitatingly, I tore it open. It was a letter. An invitation actually, to the Writhe of Writers Award.

“A message arrived this morning.” Luna slipped out of bed, pulling on a robe as she crossed to him. “From who?” His jaw ticked. “The Alpha Council.” Her heart skipped. “They know?” “They do more than know.” He turned to face her, holding out the sealed scroll. “They’re demanding an audience. In three days.” Luna’s fingers trembled as she took the scroll. The wax was stamped with the ancient emblem of the High Council—an ouroboros wolf, devouring its own tail.