Disney Aging Novels & Stories

I noticed Mom dancing with Brandon—rather closely. They were smiling, laughing, and whispering like no one else existed. I wondered when they’d finally admit their relationship. They were so cute together. Werewolves could live up to two hundred years. We grew up like any human would until we reached adulthood at eighteen. After that, our aging slowed thanks to our regenerative abilities. Mom was only forty-six, and Brandon was probably around one-twenty. A big age gap by human standards—but nothing unusual for us. They could even start a new family… though fertility was rare among older wolves.

“You never mentioned him.” “There are reasons,” Dante said. “Not all of them mine to explain.” Her gaze flicked back to the painting. “But—this can’t be recent. This is…” “One hundred and fifty-eight years old,” he replied. “Give or take.” She turned to him slowly. “How old are you?” “178,” he said, his expression unreadable. “I stopped aging physically around thirty.” Her mind reeled. She turned back to the painting, then to the other art pieces, her eyes tracing the symbolism in each one. The fangs. The moons. The blood.

I questioned him, then he declared. " No, not at all. As long as you are alive, I don't mind it even if you are a zombie." " Zombies are cool," I admitted. " Based on what?" He ridiculed and acknowledged. " Based on ZOMBIES - the Disney movie," I told him and then he questions me ridiculously. " Wait how old are you?" " Not as old as you..." I sassed. " At least, I'm old enough to not watch Disney movies." He laughed while teasing.

"I wasn't sure that was possible in a four-year-old." "Technically they're in the developmental equivalent of toddler stage," Elara said. "The aging is complicated by the supernatural biology." "He's four," Cara said, with the tone of someone who needed to say the number out loud. "Effectively, yes." Elara crouched down. "And Lena."

Jacob asked. "I'm twenty-four but I stopped aging at about twenty-one. How old are you three." Cassie asked. "My human age is twenty-five when I was turned but I'm now two hundred." Jacob said. "You’re an old man, I was twenty-four when I was turned but I'm now one hundred and fifty," Norman said. Cassie looked up at Nathan. "Me?" Well, I was twenty-seven when I was turned but I'm seventy-five." Nathan said. "Will I get old in appearance?" Cassie asked.

Many cars were passing by, and some people were passing by, some glancing at us. "I'm getting older; I want my birthday to be a man, give it to me,” she said, smiling with her teeth. I snorted and chuckled. “Are you serious there? What is aging? You are still 22, and you are so young, Rhis, to think about that.” "Eh, I want to get married at this age," she reasoned and winked at me as I shook my head.

Me and Mayari’s eighteenth birthday. Eighteen was the age when witches and wizards entered immortality. Before a witch or wizard turned eighteen, they were as vulnerable as any human. They may die of disease or a serious accident. But even if they become immortal, they will continue to age, until their body reaches its full maturity. And then the aging process will stop. Their body will forever remain in that state. Forever young, never aging. But that's not all, once a witch becomes eighteen, her magic will reach its full potential. And that's what scares me the most.

TWENTY-SIX YEARS LATER, JACKS, AGE 73 MONICA AGE 50 Watching people you love grow old is hard, but knowing my time with them is coming to an end is gut-wrenching. Watching Lenny get wrinkly and Monica's dark hair turn grey is like slow torture. When our aunts and uncle passed, it was natural all of them lived long, happy lives. But knowing Lenny will pass away and we won't is excruciating. She is the same age as us even though we only look twenty-five.

They would only appear if someone tried to approach him. “Alright, alright. We won’t nag you, but you have to get a move on. I’m waiting to become a grandaunt.” “Aunt Ser, you’ll rise in seniority once you become a grandaunt. It’ll age you,” Sonny reminded. Serenity laughed. “I am old. I don’t mind appearing too senior. I’m not someone who denies that they’re aging. Look, I have a few gray hairs already, and I didn’t dye them black. It’s just something that comes with age, and I’m letting it be. Everyone gets old, after all.”

He runs a hand over his chair and leans back in his chair, and my smile falls as I glimpse the grief still creasing his their faces. I can see the wear the years have had on his body too, yet he still looks similar to the last time I’d seen him. Only a few more lines crease his handsome face. I need to remind myself that although we do age, we have an extended life as wolves. So since aging slows in our twenties these men might be much older than the fifty-odd years they look. I keep my annoyance off my face, wishing I’d put more work into noticing the subtle marks of the years on our kind while in the human world.