Gallifreyan Writing Novels & Stories

“Makillah… kweyah sangisa bango—” I froze mid-sentence as something clicked. There were drawings of what looked like runes. Strange patterns. And that same word again. “Makillah…” A sharp realization struck me. It was from the old tongue—spoken mostly by vampires and witches. My heart began to race. The old tongue was something none of us bothered to learn, despite our mother’s insistence. I was the only one who had picked up a few words. So how was Rylan writing it so fluently?

Gavin. He had been here. And with that memory came the world of the book, its lore washing over me again, feeling more real than it had before. The supernatural rules in the novel were different, more intricate than the standard moon-goddess fare. It described a world that existed in layers, right alongside our own, hidden by a single, absolute law: never expose yourselves to humans. In that world, royalty lived for millennia, while others lived extended lives, and everyone was born with a half-soul, desperately searching for its other half.

The lavender fog turned into Iron-Hard Lines of Text that wrapped around the villagers, pinning them to the ground with the weight of their own pasts. "Darlene, I can't shift!" Eryx roared, his prehistoric fur being 'Redacted' by the ink-threads before it could fully form. "It’s... it’s writing me into a Supporting Role!" I felt the ink-threads at my own throat. They didn't feel like silver; they felt like Expectation. The Ghost was trying to force me back into the role of the "Tragic Queen," the woman whose only purpose was to suffer so the readers could feel something.

The king was not letting her go any nearer as he studied the ceiling, which didn’t seem to be disintegrating anymore. Octavia made Pellethia stay where she was, and walked forward to retrieve the object. The consort handed it to the empress, and everyone gathered around her to see that it was a scroll. Upon unrolling it, foreign linguistic characters were presented before them, ones that no lycan could read. “Succoglyphs,” Xandar murmured. “Translation?” Greg reluctantly muttered, once again reliving his hate for history. Lucianne responded, “Ancient vampire writings.”

KYLIE. I looked down at the book and the writing, it looked like it was written in blood, there were drawings of a Lycan in different states and then a list of things or rather ingredients to get and also instructions and finally the spell but it wasn't in English, I think it was old Gaelic or something like that. “From what I'm seeing here, just not any hearts or heads will do.” I tell him. “Yeah, and I guess they figured that out. That's why they're coming for the book now, even though they don't have all the ingredients that they need.” Damon says.

Not just for their beauty, but for what they meant. "Leave me," I ordered without looking up. When the door closed, I relaxed my perfect stance. Five centuries of being the perfect prince got tiresome. I rubbed my temples and pulled the oldest book closer – its black cover made from some unidentified skin, its pages yellow with age. The text was written in Ancient Vampiric, a language only royal clans still learned. I translated aloud: "The Ruby Wolf runs with fire in her veins, her blood sweeter than any mortal's, more powerful than any immortal's. She is the key and the lock, the beginning and the end."

The cave was too silent, like it was holding its breath, if a pin had fallen down it would be heard. I stared at the carved markings on the wall, the same ones I had seen in my visions. They were glowing faintly now, as if reacting to me. My heart was thudding loudly in my chest. Kelvin stood a few feet away, touching one of the symbols with a confused look on his face. “This is ancient Ghost Wolf writing,” I said slowly. “I’ve seen them… in my dreams.”

“Channelers capable of divine voice may be declared Instruments of the Court, bound to serve until death or revocation by Royal Blood.” Bound. That word again. ⸻ Allie Allie’s section should have been easy. But instead of deadly rules or rank-based injustice, she was slogging through pages of utterly absurd nonsense. “Okay,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Did you know it’s illegal to whistle in a Moon Sanctuary on a Wednesday?” Bella snorted. “I hope you don’t whistle in church.” Allie scowled. “This entire book is full of this crap. ‘Gamma-ranked Lycans must sleep with their feet pointed south during mourning’? ‘No honey consumption during the winter solstice for pups under five’? Who wrot

Dozens of books still sat untouched, and at this pace, they’d be at it well into the next day. Some of the texts were written in dead languages—not that it slowed them down. Both their kinds had been gifted the innate understanding of human language by the Shining Keeper. But with all the intricate witchwork layered in, the spells might as well have been written in an entirely alien script. Gildeon wouldn’t be surprised if even Kohina struggled to decipher some of it. Arah let out an audible sigh, her elbows braced as she slowly massaged her temples, eyes still fixed on the page in front of her.

The ink is a colour that is not quite brown and not quite red, and after a moment of staring at it I understand with a slow cold certainty what the writer used to write it. Blood. This letter was written in blood. The writing is in a dialect I don't recognize, not a language I've encountered, not anything from the supernatural theory textbooks or the academy's standard curriculum. The characters look partially familiar, like a language I should know but have forgotten, the way a melody feels familiar before you can name the song. Maya leans in. Her expression shifts from eager to careful. "That's Old Coven dialect," she says quietly. "Pre-modern. My grandmother's texts had a few passages." S