Fantasy Ink Novels & Stories

he blurted out and I squinted my eyes at him "Wait a minute, I can't understand your words? then if you don't love reading how did you know the exact words written in her master and his submissive?" I queried, crossing my arms against my check and he scoffed, glancing up at me once more. "I'm author Dark Ink, I wrote the book you are so immensed in reading" he confessed and I covered my mouth in shock. "What! then how come they aren't any pictures of you on the internet?, I checked all social media sites. I can't believe I'm so lucky to have such a talented author in my presence" I squeaked in excitement.

said Audrey while putting it on the coffee table in front of them, “the ink disappears.” “Frank’s girlfriend, isn’t she working the strange stuff? Could she look at it? It’s probably nothing, but I have a bad feeling about this,” said Lizzy. “I’ll call Frank. Stephanie’s boyfriend might also know something, they work in the same field.” Lizzy handed her the cordless phone, and Molly dialled Frank’s number. “Is Coralis with you?” “No, why? I can try to reach out to her if you need.” “I’m at Lizzy’s. I don’t know how to explain this, because it makes no sense. Audrey received a letter where the ink only appears when she touches it, and we’d like Coralis to look at it. She works the strange stu

One sunny afternoon, as Liam and Jake enjoyed a leisurely stroll through a bustling city park, they stumbled upon a small outdoor art exhibition. Intrigued, they decided to explore the vibrant display of paintings and sculptures. As they admired the artwork, Liam's eyes were drawn to a particular painting—a mesmerising portrait of a mysterious woman with striking resemblance to Jake. The artist, a young and talented painter named Lucas, approached them, beaming with pride at his creation. "Ah, I see you've noticed my latest masterpiece," Lucas exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "This painting is inspired by the beauty and complexity of human relationships.

"It is connected! So, the black liquid is ink? I've got three of The Scholar's Arsenal now—the quill, the inkstone, and the ink. That means Francis probably left one more thing: paper. I just need to find it." Felix could feel the Inkspire Quill's power had increased significantly, even without testing it in combat. Besides, this was just from absorbing a small amount of the liquid. If he let more accumulate, the boost would be even greater. "I'll call you the Little Black Vial," he decided. "Even if I can't store you inside me, you're small enough to carry around without trouble." With the black liquid regenerating, Felix felt reassured. He could use it freely in battles without worrying ab

Barely perceptible in the morning light. "The old ink formula is iron salts and oak gall. When it dries, it leaves a brownish residue under the fingernails. It cannot be washed away. Marcus wrote the Code with this ink for two hundred years. His fingers are forever stained brown." He raised his eyes. His silver-grey pupils held a faint, pale glimmer. "That is your next lesson. His habits. His flaws. Every detail may one day become your blade." Cain said nothing. His hand moved from his sword hilt. He reached over and took the cold coffee from Luna's hand.

It was a mechanical proof-roller, its heavy steel cylinder dripping with a thick, viscous black ink that hummed with a terrifying, low-frequency magnetic charge. ​"Julian!" Elara screamed, her left hand still pinned to the gurney as she scrambled backward against the mattress, her spine hitting the chrome headboard with a hard, metallic rattle. ​The black ink on the floor suddenly convulsed. ​The midnight-blue stream that had sprayed from her torn wrist didn't mix with the Printer’s black tide; it cut through it like a scalpel. A massive, vertical ridge of indigo fluid erupted from the linoleum, hardening into a solid, jagged wall of text that intercepted the Printer's first step. Spelled ou

Finally, if you're secretly a Harry Potter fanatic, Ravenclaw Academy: Quinley's reign will have you addicted in no time, watch out though-this is not a young children series as it ties in with my Hellraiser trilogy and has dark themes as an introduction to Hell comes in the form of a young demon who arrives at the Academy. I write full time and often on multiple platforms all at once. If you'd like to see some of my work's early drafts, follow me on Inkitt under the author name venom01. If you want to reach out to me and discuss ideas, follow me on Instagram, my handle is venom01_writes, and last of all, if you like my work please, like and review it! This profession is so hard to stand out

I shivered, my lips trembling with just the simple touch on his magical fingers. “I want you,” gathering all the strength I have in me, I mumbled out loud. “Take what you want, amore.” His voice was challenging, taunting. “I’m yours, take me.” With trembling hands, I reached for the hem of his black shirt, tugging it off of his body. I was drinking this fine specimen in front of me, the one which was offered for my taking. Under the canvas of intricate lines, his well-defined chest heaves calmly. A new ink caught my eyes. I haven’t seen it before, and the red ridges around it indicate it’s pretty new.

Just perfect as she thought. “Nice meeting you, sir. You can notify Lora if you have removed that part and we’ll arrange some time for that,” said she. Author's Note: Hello, I hope you enjoyed the story. Trace of Ink is about to end and I would love to hear your insights and critics. Please drop a comment, that would be much appreciated. Thank you :)

were slamming down from the sky, locking the 401st Chapter into a 22-minute-episode format. ​She reached the "Border," but instead of the white void, she found a Wall of Black Ink. ​But it wasn't the Author’s ink. It was different. It was thicker. It was Red. ​A hand reached out from the red ink—a hand made of blood and old, handwritten letters. It wasn't Kael’s hand. It was larger, rougher, and covered in the scars of a thousand "Hard-Boiled" thrillers. ​"Need a ghostwriter, kid?" a new voice rasped from the shadows of the red ink—a voice that sounded like whiskey and gravel. "The suits are fast, but they can't handle a Noir-Shift."