Romans & histoires Cursed Numbers

Only members of the High Bloodline had access to, only those who had lost something precious they loved in war were permitted to read the Codexes of What-Should-Not-Be, the forbidden texts that detailed curses and magics too dangerous for common knowledge. I qualified on both counts, and the wards recognized my right to enter. The further I read, pushing deeper into the most forbidden sections, the more disturbing patterns began to repeat across different texts from different eras and different cultures: One phrase kept surfacing across different texts in different languages, translated dozens of ways but always meaning essentially the same thing: "Wounds without cause are the loudest calls

Sachem Nadura said and gazed at the cloud of strength that was clearly visible to all directions of these Eternal Prisons. His eyes concentrated and punctured through the camouflage of power upon the vortex of its origins. At the center was a boy. A marred being coupled with his list of sickness. His broken body may have been spectacularly pitiful but what called Sachem Nadura’s attention most was the tattooed symbols on the forehead of the boy. It was the mark of the Cursed. Someone who has done an unforgivable sin in his past life. And not just one but a whole lifetime of evil and immorality.

Dear Fans, Words cannot express how immensely satisfied I feel to get every single view.Hope everyone is doing well in these troubled times, today being the 12 th day of May 2021.During this stressed situation I have made a meagre attempt to disperse the broadest spectrum of colours in your life.Though denied by majority of so called wise and sensible people Romance remains and will remain to be the dominant factor in instilling the lost spirits in us.By Nature's default lust will always remain invincible.The chariots of Venus will always carry us to our dreamworld and the cupid's arrow will continue to pierce young and old hearts alike .It is fruitless and futile trying to supress the hormo

Whatever fragile hope of peace this meeting was meant to build is gone, crumbling like ash between my fingers. All that’s left are wolves glaring at me with murder in their eyes. All that’s left is the bond thrumming louder than ever, wild and undeniable, reminding me with every breath that Ronan Draven’s life is mine and mine is his. The last sound that cuts through the chaos, through the whispers and growls and the pounding in my ears, is a single word rolling like thunder across both packs: “Cursed.” It doesn’t matter who says it first. It doesn’t matter who echoes it after.

"We have identified three more curse attacks in the past week, all targeting young supernatural beings in remote locations." Lucas stood at the front of the war room two weeks after Chris's attack, pointing at red marks on the regional map. Each mark represented a curse victim, and the pattern was becoming clearer. Someone was testing their adaptive curses on isolated targets who would not have immediate access to advanced healing. "Are the victims surviving?" I asked, though I already knew the answer from Lucas's grim expression.

Holy shit, all seven girls' birth months and days, all add up to the number thirteen! Xandra turned to me; her mouth was in the shape of a large “O” as if she had come to the same conclusion. We stared at each other for a few moments before she spoke. "It has to be connected to the occult group," she said, her voice hushed. "The number thirteen is a powerful and significant number in many cultures. It could be a sign that this group is involved." I nodded in agreement, feeling a chill run down my spine. We had finally stumbled upon a clue that could lead us to the truth.

She quickly grabs a piece of paper and writes them down. “1649.” I pause as the log is filled with three numbers over and over again. “I keep seeing another three numbers called almost every hour. If my hunch is right, one of these three is most likely the number to the one paying them for the attacks and to steal the recipe. 0189. 7461. 9912.” Bry gasps and tenses. Her hand freezes in mid-air. She slowly turns her head towards me and her voice cracks as she asks, “Are you sure about the last one?”

Isadora spun around, her face pale, the cocky look gone. "I... I don’t know..." she stammered. "I think she pressed the wrong combination!" The third girl shouted from behind us, her voice trembling with fear. "Look!" she pointed at the slab. Up above the runes, ancient wolf numbers had appeared, glowing harshly. It read: "½" "Shit.” Eloise cursed under her breath, her hands shaking. "I think that means we’ve only got two chances. One's already gone. Our next try is our last."

"Maybe this answer sounds too strange, but it really is the only answer. "I was attacked, insulted, and nearly driven to death because I bought my son that tie. "But more importantly, while I was investigating the truth, I stumbled onto something else. "My husband, whom I’ve been with for fifteen years, ten of which we were married for, has been cheating on me since the beginning of our marriage." The comment section exploded. [Wait, what kind of plot twist is this?] [Can you stop dodging the question? What does this have to do with everyone hating you?]

"Damn, am not escaping death, am I? I need a straight ass answer.” ‘The curse has severely damaged Host's spiritual pathways.’ I swallowed. "So... but I'm cursed… or not? Please answer my damn question like an appropriate computer, not switching my questions around like some damn proclaimed virgins sneaking around for dick. Am I cursed? Am I dying?" ‘Partially.’ "Ugh" ‘Well, approximately 43.6% of the curse has been neutralized by Host's body's natural resistance and previous system interventions.’ I stared at the number.