Do Mine Eyes Deceive Me Novels & Stories

I suddenly feel a glimpse of hope "Do you remember what happened two years ago? The accident, July 23rd" He shakes his head "Nope". The glimpse suddenly disappears, I wear a blunt expression " I mean I could remember if you buy some of my pretty jewellery" I smile "Of course". I put my hands in my pocket and bring out any amount I could find "Will this be enough?". " Yes, now pick five of the ones you like". I nervously laugh "I don't need the-".

"You dress is shorter than my suit, it's not good." "Put it inside." She said looking straight into my eyes. I looked at her disbelief and put it inside of her again. "I can do this all night."

"Oh please, don't be so melodramatic. Fiona is wearing a similar outfit. And besides the person who found me the day I cross the border saw me naked then I was chained and dress with nothing but a skimpy robe." "Well, that was in the past. Now, could you please put something on before I rip out the eyes out of any man who looks at you with lust?" "Oh please. Then you should do the honors and rip out your own eyes out. Seriously, you are the only one looking at me that way." "I am the only one that can look at you this way, love." He said while caressing my cheeks. "Because you are mine and I don’t share." "You are delusional. I told you I am not yours. And besides, you are not the boss of me

Dev’s mind lingered with his deeper thoughts, “Am I still dreaming? I would have drunk half the stock in this bar, still, I can't get rid of such a dream of those exotic eyes. The miracle is, I can able to see her face unlike the blurry image of her face in the last dream. Indeed, she possesses the face of a perfectly drawn flawless moon. No wonder for her to have such exotic eyes.”

Don't want anybody knowing. After I finished, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. My green-blue eyes hold no life; they are dull, lifeless, with no shine in them whatsoever. They used to be so bright, full of life and happiness, but now they are dead; there is nothing in them, and they look so empty. My face is too thin and pale from the little food and dehydration. My clothes are too big and baggy because I'm too thin. Overall I'm not the most appealing to look at.

It makes me want to cry. A painting of me. The central figure—a solitary face—emerges from a backdrop of deep, brooding colors that seem to absorb all light. My eyes, brimming with raw, unspoken emotions, the intensity. The rich, dark hues of the canvas, ranging from shadowy blues to somber grays, so somber, melancholic atmosphere, amplifying the depth of sadness in the eyes, my eyes. So many details, I look tortured but at the same time there's something free about the painting and my eyes they look bright and happy. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

The black eyes I once loved were now making me feel ashamed of myself. How can I be so dumb? How can I not look past this fake face? I close my eyes. I can't look in his eyes anymore. The pure evil. He himself is devil. He is king. He sigh and got up. Leaving me alone to my thoughts. My eyes again fall on my bloody hands. Slowly the images of jack flash in mind. I was grounded. My parents suddenly decided to bring a guy in my life. How awkward they behaved. How mumma used to cry in front of me.

he asks which compels me to look at his eyes. I lift up my gaze to him. I honestly find those things in his eyes but I don’t know if they are actually the real or even that honesty in his eyes nothing but the fake one cause his eyes always confuses me. His eyes always make me fool myself. “I…don’t believe them. I don’t believe your eyes,” I say as I try to move away from him but he instantly holds my hands and doesn’t leave them.

POV: Caine Glass tells the truth if you look long enough. In the morning, the house is all clean angles and reflected sky. The storm has rinsed the city, left it bright enough to sting. I stand before the window until my own shape stops meaning anything and what’s behind me becomes more interesting: the room’s calculus, the line where order tips into emptiness, the way silence arranges itself around the things you want. She felt it yesterday—the current. I saw it in the set of her shoulders, the way she swallowed before she lied and said happy. People think truth lives in their words. It doesn’t. It lives in the small corrections their bodies try to make when the story doesn’t fit.

I swirled the glass as I stared into space, thinking of my hand on her neck. How could I do that to her? I fisted the glass tighter as I felt angry at myself for being fooled like that. I should have known that the woman in the video was not her. The glass in my hand snapped. I fisted my hand tighter, letting the pieces of glass remaining draw blood from my palm.