Embers And Ashes の小説・ストーリー

But James had died long ago, more than a hundred and fifty years now. "Mikhail, stop brooding." James's laughter echoed through the hall, a flash of memory that made him smile. If there was anyone aside from his brothers who had understood him, it had been James. The human had been a friend to him when he'd needed it most, a brother when he had become brotherless. Their bond had run deep in a time when Mikhail had felt most alone because of his exile. When James had died, he'd left Mikhail the house, as well as all of the ghosts and memories that came with it.

They must’ve been friends of her father. Mary hung back from the coffin, as did Bart, waiting for everyone else to go through. Mr. Sinders was teary-eyed. Teresa and her daughters were sobbing, but it was apparent to Mary it was totally fake. It made her sick to see them trying to get attention over the death of a girl they’d treated so poorly for so long.

Tears streamed down my face, dripping into my father's ashes and staining them dark. I did not wipe my face. I did not respond to Stella. I did not look at Hudson, who stood beside her with an undisguised smirk. I reached out with trembling hands, gathering the ashes little by little, trying to put them back into the urn. "I'm sorry, Dad... I'm so sorry... this is my fault..." Hudson had his arm around Stella's waist. He let out a theatrical sigh. "Damon, don't take it too hard. The man is already dead. Besides, this was your own carelessness..."

Ash to ash. Now, only our future remained. To be continued...

he introduced himself with a stretch of his hands while pulling off the face mask covering his face. "Bethany Jessica Asha," Beth introduced herself with a handshake. George narrowed his eyes on her. She quickly noticed his body went stiff and his face morphed into one without an expression. "You are an Asha?" she hesitated before nodding in reply, and he sneered. "What is an Asha doing in Salem City?" he questioned. Beth shrugged with an amused smile. Ashas are a family of gifted werewolves bonded together by a birthmark instead of blood connection. Each member of this family has a birthmark unique to themselves alone, which also represents the power they hold.

Instead, I force a smile. "Careful, Dean Withers. You almost sound afraid of a dead family." His expression darkens. "Afraid?" He scoffs. "No. I reserve fear for things that are still breathing." My smile falls as he steps closer. "The Celestial Dragons are gone. Your parents are dead. Your sister is dead. And you, Miss Thalorien, are nothing more than the last loose thread of a failed rebellion." Every word steals more air from the room. "You know nothing," I whisper.

She’d come to see the bastard in the ground for herself. Dorian Ashford’s coffin sat there, slick and shiny, all polished mahogany that hollered wealth even as it sank toward the dirt. The priest mumbled some nonsense about peace everlasting, his voice half-drowned by the storm, but Sienna didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were glued to that box, her jaw locked tight. Twenty-seven years of bile churned inside her. He’d left her mom to waste away in a rusted trailer, coughing up her last breaths, while he piled up his shipping billions—money built on the wreckage of the only person who’d ever given a damn about him.

She sighed as she tossed away a few credit cards and muttered, "What a waste… If I knew the PINs, I could've inherited his entire fortune." Francesca shivered. "Shiloh, don't you feel anything taking stuff from a dead guy? Doesn't it mess with your conscience?" Shiloh sat in the backseat of the car, happily sorting her loot. Without looking up, she replied, "Nope. It's not the first time I've done this. Piece of cake." The entire car went dead silent, and even Andrew had no words. … Late that night, out in a remote burial site on the outskirts of Blumedale, a small group of men dug feverishly into the earth, shovels slicing into dirt with heavy thunks. The area was pitch black, lit only by t

As dirt was placed over the casket, a feeling of finality washed over the family. Each clump of earth that covered the casket seemed to symbolize the closing of a chapter, the end of a life that had been cherished. Tears flowed freely, mingling with the rain that fell from the sky, as they stood together in their shared grief. Whizz's hand found Liya's, their fingers intertwining as they leaned on each other for support. The pain of loss was something they carried together, a burden shared by all those who had known and loved Samuel.