Cursed Womb Death Painting の小説・ストーリー

The painting of a white-haired woman with the necklace that Joe gave me, the one that belonged to my mother, Something about the painting drew me in, so I went closer to take a better look. "That painting—I do know the story, the Boneman witches. The strongest witches that have ever lived, their blood could make one immortal and also kill an immortal when mixed with a powerful ingredient. Sadly, they ended their lives when they were being hunted rather than being used as weapons. I feel so sorry for them. Imagine ending your own life when you weren't ready because of someone. I heard they stopped giving birth, and even the children died with them too."

Damn it! Suddenly, the carvings on the coffin began to glow up in a faint red colour. They were writings of a language... "Ze tchse hea goh tuoah." She mumbled the writings out loud and tilted her head in thought. Where had she... Wasn't this in History? As she was lost in thought, the coffin began to illuminate bright red lights from the edges as the cave began to shake lightly. She was shaken out of her thoughts and her vision zeroed on the lit up coffin. Okay... What was happening?

After a moment of hesitation, she pulled away the curtains and gasped in shock with a step backward. It was a horror Calligraphy with a woman cutting off her own throat with a child. Isabella found the calligraphy painful and terrible at the same time. The artist had made the calligraphy so lively that she could literally imagine what was happening. Inside the Calligraphy, a woman with baby in her arms was cutting off her throat. A group of people with machine guns were surrounding her. Her eyes looked fierce as if she had no remorse for taking her own life. Isabella breathed heavily to observe everything more deeply. She noticed a group of wolves distance away from the woman in that calligr

You could feel the atmosphere of your favorite time of year - autumn. Leah's gaze, wandering through store windows, was caught by two paintings in gilded frames, hanging surrounded by shelves of books and art supplies. One of the works depicted a red-haired girl in a short shirt. She was sleeping and at the same time floating in the air, touching the muddy surface of the swamp water with her fingertips and feet. It was as if invisible hands were grabbing her under the lower back, and she, bending in a shape unnatural for the spine, remained frozen in time. Another work was a parody of the “Vitruvian Man”, only instead of a man, the figure of a naked woman was placed in a circle and square. W

"Sell it then. We are at an auction." He didn't wait for me to say one more word before he walked away, his head held high. I walked around the party, my eyes taking in the various art pieces that graced the wall. I stopped by a a particular wall, my eyes wide as I took in the painting. It was of a woman who was in her knees, her back carrying marks of what looked like abuse, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. My eyes squinted as I moved forward, something stirring within me. It wasn't the art piece itself, but the flowing red hair and the fact that the woman was cracking her stomach, a stomach that was obviously heavy with a child.

Erito Ricky patted gently his forehead. “I think they must have been the same Valeda Qorwina… I was in the painting room, gazing at the Gemini zodiac painting when suddenly a little girl fell off to the floor. I had to help her, so that I created my flesh, bone and blood. And you know what… The little girl had ever seen our dead bodies before in the glass casket inside the special mysterious room…”

The two demonic wisteria fetuses he ate were the only remaining two. Although several women had already died in the one hundred or so coffins, not every one of them had successfully given birth to matured demonic wisteria fetuses. Like how a normal human conceived, there were possible cases of miscarriage in the process… For example, weaker mothers might have illnesses that would result in their deaths halfway through the fetus’ breeding process. Naturally, with the mother dead, the fetus wouldn’t be able to survive either.

Its walls were covered with murals rather than symbols, murals depicting wolves, packs, battles, and rites I had only heard of in stories whispered by elders. My mother stepped to the central mural, the largest of all. It depicted a woman with silver hair standing at the edge of a crescent-shaped pool. Her figure was surrounded by wolves kneeling in submission, but behind her stood a man whose features were deliberately blurred, as though the artist had been forbidden from revealing his identity. “This is the beginning,” she said. “The beginning of the Crown. The beginning of the war you now stand in.” I studied the mural closely, noting the details I had never seen in any history scroll. “W

This kiss carried weight, a vow unspoken. When they broke apart, Allistair grinned happily. “So do you want to see it now?” “Yes baby, where is it?” Samael exclaimed, clearly excited. Allistair stood up and waved his hand and the square designed fountain parted and revealed all his paintings that he recently made and on the centeris the exact replica of the painting he burned. The one called “Aeternum”. The painting made by the greatest painter of all time, his favorite painter Vianna Resilda Del Fierro, Samael’s mother.

Then, we can talk. ******* Two days later, a package arrives. It’s big, wrapped in brown paper, with my name written in Nila’s messy handwriting. I put it on my desk, trace the letters with my finger, and rip the paper open. It’s a painting. A naked woman kneels in a field of ruins and ashes, her back arched, arms lifted slightly toward the stormy sky. Her black hair blows in the wind, partly covering her face. A long black spear is stuck in her chest, and red paint drips down her body. A vulture sits on the end of the spear, waiting.