Dark Blue Veins Underneath Tongue Romane & Geschichten

I swallowed a lump in my throat, the dread clouding my chest threatening to suffocate me. “Something bad’s going to happen, Dante,” I said moments later. “You need to go somewhere far away from here. Somewhere far from home. The mafia.” He stared at me for a few moments, his expression blank. “What about you?” “What do you mean?” I asked, my brows furrowed. “We’re both mafia blood, Seraph. If something bad’s really going to happen like you claim, then you wouldn’t be exempted. So,” he cocked a brow, “what about you?”

I hate it in here. The depressing smell of vibrant flowers wraps around me and the dim lighting that only makes his skin look more sallow. The man laying before me is longer recognizable as my father. His dark veins are the liquid silver now working their way through his sunken cheeks and pale complexion. There is no beating liquid silver when it hits your bloodstream, apparently.

My breathing grows heavier as the images reappear. Aerin’s hands on her waist. His mouth near her ear. My vision flashes gold. A low growl tears from my throat before I can stop it. Then my back burns. “Ahh!” I staggered to my feet and ripped my shirt off turning to the large mirror. Black veins have spread from where the Hollowed Vale vine had pierced me when Elara was pulling me out. I touched it and it pulsed. The edges look darker and thicker now. “What is this?” I whispered as I looked at the thing beneath my skin pushing outward.

Long, about eight and a half inches, with that upward curve and a throbbing vein underneath. "Fuck, it's beautiful," I breathed, leaning in to lick the bead away, savoring the salty tang as his thighs tensed, a sharp hiss escaping him. "Mmm, so thick. Gonna hit my throat just right." I took him deep, lips stretching, hollowing my cheeks as I sucked, spit dripping messy down my chin.

She bit herself. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The elderly healer slowly looked back at Sera. The concern in his eyes deepened. That was when another healer suddenly gasped. I immediately turned. Black veins. Thin black veins were spreading beneath the skin of Sera's neck. My heart nearly stopped. "What is that?" The veins appeared for only a second. Then it disappeared completely. Like they had never existed. The room exploded into panic. "What was that?" "I've never seen anything like it."

The old man said to Boye, “Looks like you underestimated Baby Zetty.” Boye said, “Keep waiting. The ones that go to her now are just patients with minor pain and illnesses. She’s new to the field, so who would go to her if they have complex diseases?” 20 days later, Baby Zetty came to consult Boye. “Mr. Boye, this man’s complexion looks normal, his pulse is strong, and his organs are functioning as usual. But the root of his tongue is black. Why is that?” Boye was greatly alarmed by what she heard.

I felt my chest tighten with worry. I walked into the room. I could hear the beeping of the monitor. Charles had an IV drip running, probably to keep him hydrated and give him his pain meds. His wound looked black now and the veins around it seem to be spreading this darkness. Dark black veins could be seen through his skin. They spread all throughout the upper right half of his torso, and seemed to be spreading fast.

Any thermometer would have failed to measure what I could see what I could feel. There were black veins. Thin, unnatural lines moving beneath his skin, like living ink made of shadow itself. They pulsed, spreading with each heartbeat. I had seen similar cases, but nothing like this. They’d started at his ankles, creeping upward, pulsing with an intensity that made my chest tighten. Now they had reached his waist. If they crossed any further, spread past that point, he’d be gone. Not in the usual medical sense. Gone entirely. I pressed my fingers against his wrist again, feeling the pulse. Weak, but it was there. Just barely.

There's something dark and thin crawling visibly up the side of my neck, fine as a spider vein but subtly pulsing, it looks terrifyingly alive. I lean closer to the mirror, my heart hammering chaotically against my ribs. It’s not simply on my skin. It’s clearly in it. The black vein is twitching, moving with an unnerving, internal life, and under the pale bathroom light, I can distinctly see the faint, undeniable shimmer of Malakai’s dark magic snaking rapidly beneath the surface. “What in the actual hell…” I slap violently at my neck, instinctively, desperately, like that physical action will somehow make the invasive magic stop.

Panic flashed in his eyes, pure, unfiltered panic. “What the hell… are you okay?” I knelt beside him, reaching out to help, but the moment my fingers brushed his skin, he jerked violently and vomited more blood. I pulled back, but my eyes stayed locked on his. Something was wrong. I looked down at my hand, still resting on his arm, and noticed the skin beneath my fingers. His veins were turning black, dark lines spreading out like cracks in glass. They kept moving, snaking up through his chest, his neck, his face, until they reached his eyes.