Enderman Writing Novels & Stories

the man with reddish brown irises said as he approached them. “How lucky, huh? Your room is also next door to Miss. My room is there." He said pointing to a door at the other end. "Just call me Eron." Introduce myself. "Don't be too friendly with her, she could be a danger to our Lady's safety." Adelard emphasized the word 'our' in his speech. Making Damian even more irritated. How could he be so eager to antagonize a newcomer just out of jealousy? “Too bad I have to be with these weird humans,” Damian muttered as he opened the door and entered without any regard for the people.

Birds had nested in the dashboard. At midday, they stopped to eat. Damon pulled from his pack a battered copy of *Watership Down*, which he’d scavenged from a burned library two towns back. He read aloud as they chewed dried fruit and jerky, his voice soft and oddly reverent. It was the only book they’d kept, after the world ended. As he read, Elena watched Donovan run perimeter checks, ever alert. She wondered if this vigilance would ever break, if he could ever trust in the possibility of a future. Damon caught her glance and folded the book shut, reading her mind as always.

Webber She began flipping through the pages, reading through a series of listed achievements and matters of interest accompanied by aged photos and personal anecdotes from the author as she considered every word carefully. It told the story of Ramus, a man spiraling out of control, and though it was never directly addressed, a clear picture was painted of his dissent into the darkness of selfish ambition.

As I studied Emmanuel's figure, he reminded me of a stick insect. Tall for his age, but with a visible gauntness that revealed the bones beneath his skin. His complexion was muddy, his lips cracked, and dark circles marred the skin under his eyes. It was a state reminiscent of many residents of Ice Demon City before their arrival. "This is Emmanuel, Young Lord," Aldo introduced the new recruit, prompting me to give him a scrutinizing gaze as if assessing his potential. However, the system had already provided me with the necessary information.

Cora shrugged. "Me? There's no way I won't need money," I joked and we laughed. I did have a job, I am a writer, and I do all the kinds of writing there is; Ghost writing, content writing, script-writing, and I write personal books, two of which were adapted into live action. Not to brag, but I am a hot cake writer, kinda famous for my works, and works that people didn't even know I wrote; either way, it was bringing me money and hence the reason why Cora would think I didn't need money. Everyone needs money, Femi Otedola does, Jeff Bezos does, Dangote does, hell even Elon Musk still needed money, so who was I not to need money because I was earning a few thousands? Not me!

Her crimson human blood had bled through the paper, manifesting on the final sheet as a massive, dark red punctuation mark. It was a question mark, written in her frantic handwriting. "Write something, " the pressman pleaded. "Elara, if you don't anchor a redirection line now the whole floor is going into the pot!" ​With a desperate cry of defiance, Elara didn't try to write a sentence. She brought her hand down onto the page slamming her raw scarred palm directly onto the wet red question mark. She used her open wound to seal the interface. ​The cavern didn't shake. It just stopped moving.

yeah). I've got a pile of ghostwriting work to do. **screams in madness** my last brain cell isn't even a full one, I swear. 😭 — Lashes (who is a second away from collapsing) P.S: I love you guys so much. Thank you for sticking with this unhinged author so far. <3 oh and... what do you think: ***** Ethan Moreau is fast—Olympic fast. But his speed isn’t talent, it’s vampirism.

Meanwhile, Dante was in jeans and a thin leather jacket that looked rough and unkempt. "It is a privilege to meet you. I knew this day would come, but I just wasn't expecting it to be soon." They shook hands. "You are welcome. I am Declan, Emerson. For ease, call me Emerson." He didn't allow Dante to respond. "You look terrible," he continued. "Let's get you settled down. We have the main house and the smaller units." When Dante saw that the man before him was the mysterious Emerson, his body and mind relaxed a bit. He felt some kind of safety as if he had finally found the long-awaited sanctuary.

I sat on the desk, pulled out a the a book where I have been writing about the Demon king, Zemia. It was like a diary, where I wrote all the things Zemia does on a daily bases. I drafted a few things down and then got off my chair, I got on my kneels and kept the book on the bottom shelf, I pulled out a big book with leaves printed on the cover. I sighed when I stared at the faded inks of the last page, I was able to save the first pages but it was suscpious like she did it intentionally or it was a hiding message.

Just held the pen above the page like she was deciding if the page deserved words today. “Day 8,” Destiny said. “The Strong One is allowed to not write today.” Elma bumped her shoulder to Destiny’s. Light. “Day 8 from me: Orphan Elma is allowed to not be strong today either.” Destiny wrote one word. Slow. Deliberate. Tore the page out. Handed it to Elma. The paper was warm from her hand. The word said: _After._ Elma held it like it was a key. “After the lie. After the truth. After the crying. After the armor. There’s… after.”