Cursed Poetry Novels & Stories

“Our pack was the crescent. The Alvuelas were concerned about power, they wanted to rule the entire werewolves pack with the tip of their fingers. It wasn’t in favour of the other packs as they have predicted how toxic the leadership will be, they prefer to be ruled by their own alpha since there is an alpha in every pack. The Alvuelas used violence and threatened the other subordinate packs with the death of their whole pack. They didn’t have much choice than to follow his influence and voted the Alvuelas in power. But there were two heroes from the crescent pack that stood against the whole process. They stood up against the Alvuelas which they didn’t know could lead to their death. The Al

She felt it was her responsibility, but she also knew she couldn't fight them alone, but she needed help from others, she thought. She used her curse which was "cursed speech". She was able to make something happen with just a word. If she was to say die to anyone they would die instantly, but that depends on how strong the soul of the person was. She used her cursed speech to curse three swords, that can be used to kill anyone that was cursed, with a stab in the chest. She wanted to do more but she couldn't, the cursed energy was too heavy for her mortal body to behold. The three she did take a toll on her body and she lost her voice. She wasn't able to speak or talk again since that day.

She pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, her voice ringing through the shadowed bedroom with surprising force. “Heartless people… You are demons!” she rasped, each word laced with venom. “You will regret what you’ve done to me. I curse you and your child. On the day I leave this world, I will charge you. I will take a life and ensure you live without peace. My spirit will haunt you until the end of your days!” Her voice echoed off the high ceilings, raw and haunting, before collapsing into a fit of coughing. Even in the grip of death, Carla poured every remaining ounce of her will into the curse.

one of the warriors reported. I nodded once and wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. Normally after a fight my wolf would calm down, but tonight it was worse. Restless. Wounded. Silent. Ever since the rejection ceremony my wolf refused to speak to me. It stayed buried deep inside me like it hated me.

She leaned back, the lines in her face deepening. “The old words you’ve all heard,” she said, “are only half the stanza. The rest…” Her mouth twisted. “I’ve been trying to get someone to listen to it for years. But people like their prophecies neat. Easy to wield in arguments.” She lifted her hand, palm up. “Listen now,” she said. “The lost hybrid child returns in chains,” she recited softly. “The twin‑marked wolves both feel Her pain. If she is bound like a trophy, the curse takes flame and devours the plain. If she is left like a ghost, the curse takes frost and snaps bone and brain.”

By shadow’s will, by night’s decree, So burned, so cursed, so mote it be. I didn’t know how long I stood there, hurling curses upon Ezra’s pack, my voice rising like a storm. Midway through, Ezra and his armies stormed the roof, desperate to bring me down, to silence me. But they couldn’t reach me — a barricade of dark power surrounded me, impenetrable. No matter how they clawed or struck, none could break through. Soon, my curses began to take hold. Some of them doubled over, coughing up blood, while others burned with fever, their bodies trembling violently beneath the scorching sun — as though they were trapped in the heart of an Antarctic winter.

he groaned as he felt more pains at the back of his neck and more headache. "What is happening?" He muttered as his eyes began to ache too. Suddenly a mark appeared at the middle of his palm in ancient writings and since he could read ancient writings, he read them and his eyes popped out like an owl, as if they would fall off anytime soon. On his palm was boldly written in ancient writings, 'The cursed wolf'. He looked at Lydia and then at himself and then it dawned on him. Lydia wasn't the one who would break his curse. It was Jade and Lydia was the one to curse him more.

I storm out Why won't anyone believe me, I have a real life vampires blood Arrg! after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,

A freak accident that left me completely alone in the world. But now, I couldn’t help but wonder. Were they werewolves too? Had they known this would happen to me? Alaric said the curse didn’t activate unless you killed someone. If they were werewolves, had they never triggered the curse? Or was it something else entirely? I glanced at the window, where the light of the setting sun was fading, giving way to the night. The full moon was coming. I could feel it—a strange hum at the back of my mind, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Years ago, a witch cast a prophecy over me. She said I was the cursed wolf, an abomination who would bring the pack to ruin. My parents believed it completely. Locked me in the cellar that same night and left me to starve. My older sister, Sia, fought like hell to keep me alive. When the pack came for me, she stood in front of every single one of them, crying as she tried to shield me. "She's not an abomination. She's never hurt anyone." Because of those words, when the Alpha fell for her but still feared me, that so-called abomination, I volunteered for exile. Walked away from the pack forever. Before I left, I gave Sia a charm. Told her, if anyone ever laid a hand on her, just speak into i