Dream Of Gluttony Novels & Stories

I mused, my thoughts a whirling tempest, "to crave the very thing we claim to abhor, to seek solace in the arms we condemn." "Perhaps," I conceded as I turned from the window, the cityscape now a blur behind me, "it is not about worth at all. Perhaps it is about the hunger that lies beneath—raw, unspoken, and utterly consuming." In the quiet of my apartment, with the day awakening beyond my door, I was left to wonder if Mr. Lombardi's appetites revealed more about him—or perhaps more about me—than either of us dared to admit.

LUST. He wanted to take it all for his use alone and maliciously deprive others. GLUTTONY. To gain everything, be it money or power. AVARICE. To waste his time in idleness. SLOTH. To explode in vicious anger. WRATH. To wish for others to fail and come to fatal harm. ENVY. To be the best of all. PRIDE. Maru relished in all these feelings and a dark divinity had shrouded his body.

I close my eyes, lost in a haze of longing and lust, the world outside fading into insignificance as I surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. But even as pleasure washes over me, I am consumed by a wave of self-loathing. I know this can never be more than a fantasy, a fleeting moment of weakness in the face of temptation. I am betraying my prince, my friend, and for what? A taste of something I can never truly have. When I am spent, I collapse back onto my bed, the weight of my guilt pressing down upon me like a leaden shroud. The echoes of my desire linger in the air, a bitter reminder of the forbidden fruit that lies just out of reach.

Unforgivable. I slid to the ground thinking about my dreams since that day. They fed into my guilty feelings. I'd dreamed about a younger Dante, with parents and a sister, and they were happy. I'd also seen an older Dante, who'd found and kidnapped people for the Collector with the zeal of a fanatic. But, despite Dante's disciple-like behavior, by the end of my dreams I'd realized that he had been simply surviving.

Does it mean Maxine can achieve her goal to be free? All she wanted before was to break free from slavery. But after meeting Agatha, her dreams grew from a pinhole to an oasis. Now, she dreams of a life filled with good food, a place to live, a job, friends, and maybe even a special someone. Maxine grinned foolishly as she pondered over these dreams. But eventually, she realized the reason why dreams were labeled as ‘dreams’. It was because pursuing a dream meant either achieving it or waking up from it.

“Alright, what is this extremely vital thing you need to tell us? — Forma Roman, curious, as he puts an arm around the shoulders of his better half. I gasp for air and hold it in my lungs until the words begin to eAngelger from my mouth, recounting the pecuAmyr dream I had earlier today that I haven't had a chance to escape from my head, which is why I barely focused on any of my classes. “Did you see a merry turn?” Lara asks me when I get to that part, butting in and checking me out with a stitched brow and an anarchy brow. “Besides, individuals vanish in waves of green smoke,” I wake up, deciding to get to the point one last time and spare myself the irrelevant niceties. "Do you ever have

The contrast of his calloused palms on my sensitive skin made me cry out. “You've been dreaming about this?” he asked, pulling my shin up to meet his eyes. “Yes,” I gasped as his thumb circled my nipple. “What did you dream? Tell me.” “I dreamed... you'd suck them. Hard. That you'd bite them a little. That you'd make me cry out.” My tongue kept spilling every dirty fantasy I’d harbored. “That you'd then push me down, rip my robe off and just.. look at me. Look at all of me before you.. before you…”

Begging him to touch her. He’d wake up in the oppressive darkness, sweat slicking his body. Sometimes, he’d be hard, the physical manifestation of his unfulfilled desire. Sometimes, a furious, burning anger would consume him. Always, without fail, he woke up profoundly, achingly unsatisfied. The dreams fed the obsession, intensifying the hunger for something far beyond carnal pleasure.

An hour into a boorish repose in a godsend kip, a sweet dream of the star-blown constellations before golden caramel meadows had been swirled by a petrifying nightmarish reverie of a deity giving meat and the evil were cooks. Ditiori had no fear when the heat comes, his leaves were green; the year of the draught was no problem and he could always bear fruit. Desire and greed awakened amongst their brethren. They saw Maga in a white robe protruding with her grown belly.