Evil Sorceress Novels & Stories

She badly wanted to meet that sorceress. The more she heard about the other party, the more she felt that it was the same sorceress that they were looking for. She must be her mother, Delicia. The same sorceress that came back to Iridos to face the apprentice necromancer once and for all for the sake of her dear daughter. [I tried looking about it but unfortunately, I found nothing. What I told you is everything that was mentioned in the old records. There is nothing aside from that anymore.]

“We were perfect. Until she came along.” The sorceress’s head tilted. “She?” “Tessa Morgan,” I spat. “Sweet little Tessa. The kind of girl who cries and everyone rushes to save her. She took him from me.” The sorceress began to hum — low, ancient, and strange. “So, you wish him to forget her. To love only you again.” “Yes.” She turned toward the shelves and began to mix things. A drop of red liquid. A pinch of gray dust. A lock of hair from a jar I didn’t ask about.

The Sorceress asked as she noticed the ashes that still had the arrangement of a human. Grim nodded but said nothing. He had a sleepless night thinking about what would have killed them. Grim’s heart clenched every time his heart suggested that it was the work of Althrea. He thought back to the story the Sorceress had told him about Althrea… the Sorceress who had once been known as the balance of light and dark, but who had turned to the darker side of magic. The thought of her filled him with dread, even now. But if she had truly returned, if she was behind this...

Persephone screamed, and Fatimah rushed to attack Alaric but he caught hold of her by the throat, lifting her from the ground with a fixed smile on his face. Blinking back the pain, I stared at the woman walking beside him and saw her hands making patterns in the air as she manipulated the elements. A sorcerer, or a demon of the dark art. That was why I had been distracted enough to miss the attack. The word dimmed as my blood seeped to the floor, thousands of stars exploding in my vision.

"She can command the beast. You may not need to kill or make him dormant anymore." "That's a tricky part," Henry interjects as his smile fades. "The dead sorceress was a white wolf, too. She went dark. Used her powers for evil and personal gains. That's why I said I don't know if our own Miss Hart is evil or not. What we know is that she'll have equal capacity for good and evil." Kerris is pure light. She is good. I'm not worried in the slightest that she'll go dark. And maybe this is my dıck thinking, but I believe it strongly.

He asked taking an intimidating step towards me, he was tall, much taller than me, his well-built body towering over the small frame I occupied, and his eyes set on me in a way that threatened to strip me of all my worth. If I had been Alena, the werewolf I would have been scared, taken a step back, and cowered but I was Eliana, the sorceress and no werewolf born of another werewolf had the ability to elicit anything from me other than hate, profound soul-imbedded hatred. I stared back at him fiercely. “I have the right to do as I choose, and not even you...” I spat the last word with all the disgust I could mutter. “... Of all people can stop me.”

she says, making Marrok snarl angrily. “I mean, she said I must have a magic pussy, and I was going to ask you about that,” she says, ignoring Marrok’s snarl and smiling at me. “Your pussy is definitely magical. It takes me to places I’ve never been before. But that doesn’t change the fact that she not only tried to interfere with us, but she also disrespected me to a member of a very powerful family.” “And disrespect can’t go unaddressed,” she says seriously.

The violet flame orbs drifted lower, bathing them both in soft light. Raven pictured the sigil again. Thought the command again. Victoria stepped forward—smooth, willing, smiling. And in the obsidian heart of Valros, a nine-year-old necromantress took her first true step toward mastery—not out of fear, not out of survival, but out of something stronger. Love. Trust. And the quiet promise of a future they would fight to keep. Threads of Crimson and Silver