Cursed Writing Novels & Stories

It was the mateless curse that Preston had told me about, so it was true that they were affected by the mateless curse. The mateless curse was one of the few curses that were generational, if a solve was cursed with the mateless curse, it would affect their entire lineage and the only person who could break the curse was the person who cursed them, if the person died, the curse can never be broken, it was one of the cruelest things to curse a wolf with. I was reading through the book, when I started hearing footsteps, walking towards the study, I hurriedly placed the book back in the process, and I mistakenly knocked some files off the table.

It was the scrap of parchment concealed inside that I hunted for. The hand that had written the prophecy was hurried, smearing the words in more than one line. Some were completely illegible. No matter how many times I studied it, I’d never been able to decipher the meaning. Magic failed to affect the piece of parchment, and only seemed to make the quality worse. Hunched over the parchment for the thousandth time, I scanned the words that had long been burned into my memory. Under starlight the curses will be broken, A ----- so ancient at long last awoken.

Even if it was cursed it was their love in the end. Their Cursed Love. ____________________________________ THE END Hope you guys loved the story. Thanks for all the support and love. Don't forget to follow me on I* guys it's mirah_selim for my upcoming stories information. Till the next story adios

I wasn’t just an Alpha. I was cursed. The kind of curse that was written in blood and carved into bone. A power that made the ground quake when I lost control. And tonight, I felt it creeping in again—coiling around my spine, crawling beneath my skin like fire ants, whispering things I didn’t want to hear. Take. Claim. Destroy. I downed the drink in one gulp and threw the glass into the wall. It shattered into a thousand sharp pieces, but the ache didn’t leave. It only grew.

It has been a thousand years now and many third month of the full moon had passed but I was yet to meet the destined one. I opened my eyes which was filled with agony. My heart felt heavy from the burden I had been carrying for thousands of years. I regretted the day I had killed that innocent man thinking he was responsible for the death of my parents. What I didn’t know was the man had been cursed and whoever killed him would be the new host of the curse. Being able to live for thousands of years might be the longing of many wolves but not me as I was tired of repeating the same cycle over and over again.

I go to the table. The page is dense, old handwriting in two languages, English and something older that I recognize as a Creole variant from my archive research. The English portion is a full clinical description of a working called The Lover's Ruin, which I have read about in Beatrice Ashworth's journals but which has never been as specific as what is written here. I read. The curse activates upon inheritance of the Sterling fortune. This I knew. The compulsion layer drives the heir to sabotage genuine love through pride, cruelty, and self-destruction. This I knew.

The circle was drawn in Himalayan salt and crushed pomegranate seeds, the air thick with the scent of burnt honey and Ava's desperation. She wasn't praying; she was bargaining. Her knife, usually an extension of her will, felt heavy and dull in her hand. The critics' words echoed, derivative, lacking fire, safe, carved deeper wounds than any blade. Michelin stars felt like distant, dying embers. Inspiration had deserted her like a fickle lover. So, she turned to the unconventional section of her grandmother's grimoire, the one bound in suspiciously soft, warm leather. Incubus Minor: For Creative Ignition. Price: Nights of Service.

Nathan didn't understand why his mother was doing this to him—coughing out blood as he saw his mother’s disinterested face, as she placed a curse on the child she brought into this world due to her only infidelity. Nathan screamed as he felt like he was on fire as something part of him was being ripped away. His soul was becoming twisted and warped into something dark, something genuinely monstrous. Something that no one should become. Just before Nathan passed out due to the pain, he cursed his mother. Nathan could only blink to shake away those memories of a life that was long left dead. Looking back at his journal, It's been a while since he decided to write here, and even now, Nathan doe

Samuel had been one of the few who had dared to challenge the curse, documenting his findings and experiences. His entries spoke of an ancient ritual, a desperate attempt to break the curse's grip on the town. He wrote of midnight ceremonies under the light of the full moon, of howling winds and blood-stained altars. The words danced before my eyes, painting a vivid picture of a world where the boundaries between human and beast blurred.