Goth Coffin Nails Mga Nobela at Kwento

How could he still say that? If I could go back, I would undo all of it. I'd never cross paths with him, never fall for him, and never marry him. Then none of this would have happened. He never would have killed me. Nathan had a coffin made to order with roses carved into the wood. He had a hole dug in the back garden and the coffin lowered in. Then he climbed inside with my body, wearing the white shirt I had bought for him. It took me a moment to understand what he intended.

Just rain. I tell myself that. The coffin is white birchwood with brass handles, her choice, she picked it years ago the way practical women pick things, efficiently and without sentiment. White for Aurora. Everything else in her life was black and iron and blood, so she wanted white at the end. I remember thinking she was being morbid when she told me. I didn't argue. I never argued with her about the things that mattered.

He could believe that Caleb would gain the ability to punch above his weight, but punching above his weight while also killing instantly? Caleb smiled faintly in turn. "Yorba Danmel, Tobek Zangief, Zahn Nispark… I will bury you and your friends right here!" Bang! A five foot-long ancient bronze coffin appeared right beside Caleb just then! Clang! The lid on the coffin opened audibly and slowly just then, revealing a darkness within that was no different from the abyss. Yorba, Tobek, Zahn, and their respective patriarchs felt their hearts skipping a beat seeing such an eerie sight, unable to smile…

"Mom, what now?" She ignored him, instead reaching out and grabbing the edge of the coffin lid. The moment her fingers touched the thick iron nails hammered into the wood, her face turned deathly pale. "Those are… nails… Who nailed it shut? Who did it?"

There was a long, silent moment as she stared down at the coffin, and as I stared at her. “The corner pieces?” she asked suddenly, whipping her head around to look at the funeral director. “Where are they?” The funeral director nodded and pulled a box out. He opened the lid and held it out to us; four brass corner pieces sat inside, one for each corner of the coffin. A crescent moon, a rose, an oak tree, and a sparrow. New beginnings, love, strength, and hope. But none of those things had saved our son. … “We are here today to lay to rest a small, but mighty, soul…”

They're less likely to see us back here, and besides, I think Ward wants the privacy. But we have a perfect view of everything, and in spite of my best efforts to avoid looking, I find my eyes drawn to the coffin sitting just below the altar. It's huge, and it's made of dark, shiny wood with brass. It's closed, thank God - I don't think I could bear to look at Carolson's lifeless face. There's a wreath of white flowers on top, but that's dwarfed by the huge arrangements of blossoms displayed on either side of the coffin. They've spared no expense for this service. The flowers at my father's funeral were yellow and pale blue. They weren't as elaborate, and honestly, I couldn't have cared less

Even Alpha titles. They were hunting us. And feasting on our leaders like we were casual snacks. My lips trembled as I clenched my fists, my rage barely held back. That’s when I noticed what I came here for in the first place. The coffin. Dracula’s. It was massive. Easily the biggest coffin I’d ever seen. Dark and imposing. It gleamed faintly under the candlelight. The lid was slightly cracked, and inside, I could see the faintest glimmer of something.

She mumbled, “Vincent…” He looked down at her, his chest torn open and his claws dripping with blood. “I’ve got you. I won’t let them bury you again,” he affirmed. But as he held her close, the crowd began to kneel. One by one, the faceless mourners pressed their hands against the soil, whispering in unison: “She was never yours to save.” The ground shook once more as another coffin rose from the soil. This one was small, black, and bound with chains.

The hem of my dress dragged through mud, soaking up the earth like it wanted to pull me down with her. The coffin was simple mahogany, polished until it gleamed even under the dull light. White lilies rested on the lid in a perfect circle. Someone had chosen them because my mother had always loved lilies. I hated lilies. They smelled like funerals. I kept my gaze locked on the flowers. On the way the rain beaded on the petals and rolled off in slow drops. On the brass handles that caught what little light there was. Anything except the man standing directly across the open grave.

Love ‘em. “I do tats,” she’d said. Goth chick with a Daddy’s Girl Gone Bad vibe. Hair fifty shades of black. Bangs chopped with a razor. Big eyes rimmed with black. Skin whiter than rich kid coke. Dark blue smeared on her lips. Metal in her ears, nose, chin. Her small bright teeth chewing dollar store blue from her stubby nails.