Girly Ghostface Novels & Stories

I pointed out. She huffs and crosses her arms which made me laugh, while hovering a few inches higher like a grumpy balloon. "But I spent an hour focusing all my energy on this. Ghost makeup is not easy you know." She whined. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit more. "Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I swear if I could see it, I’d say you look drop-dead gorgeous and even though I can't see it, I still maintain that you are the most radiant and most sexy ghost I have ever seen... I mean, you are the only ghost I have seen but you get the picture." I said truthfully and she finally smiled.

Subtle, but I notice everything. Klaus de Luca. He didn’t see me as he entered a room alone. I didn’t hesitate. Silently, smoothly, I followed. The door was just starting to close when— CRASH! A vase flew at my head. I ducked instinctively, the ceramic shattering against the wall behind me. I straightened slowly, blade already drawn. Then I heard his voice. Low. Calculated. “So... you’re the Ghost Knife. The woman with no past. No future. Who sent you ? .”

“Haha! Do you think what you are? Your wife is never as good as my wife! Never!” “You dare disparage my wife, don’t you? Do you want to fight? “I’ll never fight with you. Pure will disparage me if I do that. The elderly will never fight with urchins!” “...” Pure was very uncomfortable because of their argument. She called the maid next to her: “ Go there and find the reason why they scream too much like that because they ruined the face of our Galaxy Trade Union.” Not only the Galaxy Trade Union’s face but also her face.

Valentino stood near the whiskey shelf, already pouring a glass. Ghost set the bag down. “Your French minister better send me a fucking Christmas card.” “You got it?” I asked. He opened the bag, pulling out the heavy gold frame. Thick. Old. Wrapped in silk. “Let me see it,” I snapped. Ghost peeled the cloth away. Silence hit the room like thunder. It was a portrait. A woman. Not just any woman. Eyes dark as ink. Fox at her feet. Red string around her wrist. Fox teeth glinting from her grin.

Amanda snapped, her simmering anger reigniting at the stranger's audacious familiarity with her full name. "I am Ghost."

I wasn't even the tactical Ghost who had raided the Grand Excelsior. Today, I was the Titan of the East. I smoothed the fabric of my silk dress, a deep, bruised plum color that looked like a healing wound. My hair was no longer the flowing chestnut of Isabella or the tactical bob of the Ghost; it was a sleek, obsidian curtain that reached my waist, sharp enough to cut. I wore oversized dark glasses that cost more than the motel we’d just left, and my lips were painted a red so dark it was almost black.

"The makeup that works for humans doesn't work well for ghosts. Soft, natural looks rarely hold up on dead skin. We want to highlight your strengths and showcase what makes you unique. "From a powerful, commanding vibe to a vintage look, sweet-and-cool style, icy elegance, or retro flair, I'll guide you through several options so you can find the one that suits you best." "And of course, don't forget skincare. Ghosts love being out at night, but staying up late is terrible for your skin. Try to stick to a healthy sleep schedule whenever you can."

In the moonlight, a woman in a white lace dress was kneeling on the stone steps of the chapel, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling. She had no feet. Below her dress, there was only a swirling black mist. "I see her." Lorenzo let out a low whistle. "Two years ago, Marco put her in the ground right there. Her ashes are buried under the rose bushes behind the chapel." I didn't stop, walking straight toward the chapel. Giovanni froze behind me but didn't dare to call out. As I reached the bottom of the steps, the female ghost's head snapped up. She lunged at me, her face a sickly pale green, her eye sockets empty black pits.

The day I was released from prison, I was wearing old clothes that had been washed so many times they had lost their color. I was so thin that I was little more than skin and bones. I looked nothing like the bright, handsome Carter Quince I had been five years ago. Riley West was waiting outside in her car. “Carter, you’re finally out.” I looked up, revealing a face that wasn’t mine, covered in scars. There was even the word "trash" carved into it.