Goth Novels & Stories

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

“Like some sort of a fucking Vampire?” “Uh… yeah. Exactly like that.” “Is your aunt a fucking Vampire?” Jo bit back a laugh--not at the content of the question but his unchanging expression and the anger with which the question was asked. “No. She’s a Hybrid.” “What the fuck is a Hybrid?” “Is that your favorite word?” “Most days. I have others I like.” He shrugged then and took a drink of his beer. The weight of his stare shifting off of her face was welcome.

She stood with her chin up, her perfectly smooth skin and peach luscious lips, made her look like a goddess even under the thin net veil. Her Natural dark eyebrows that matched her healthy long black hair giving her that innocent yet dangerous look. But her eyes! Those deep blue eyes that could drown anybody into it were most definitely the deadliest feature.

"Return." The group began to leave, a group of people carrying large mirrors, a group of people walking on two sides. The man is walking in the middle, his figure is tall, and the suit on him makes him even more powerful. The gun on his side seemed to move with every step of its owner, silent but extremely scary. King Ivan coldly stepped into his big black business car, his face in the dim light became more and more deadly. He reached out and unbuttoned the two buttons of his shirt, his chest inside was enchantingly strong.

" she said and hugged him. Thomas looked at himself in the mirror above the bar, "I'm kinda scared," he said. "I know how you feel, I was too, I still am some Thomases," Sophie said. "I don't want to blaspheme," he said. "Then don't." "Isn't this blaspheme?" Thomas asked. "I don't see it that way, Goth is one of the most worldly women who ever lived, she's the daughter of the devil herself, she'll pin your ears back baby," Sophie showed her white teeth in her evil grin.

Always had—rebellion swarm in his blood. He was tall, a wolf-like Sabin, but that was where the similarities ended. While Sabin had brown hair, brown eyes, and a roughly hewn face, Gideon was pure punk, embracing the modern Goth look, throwing in a bit of grunge and mixing it all with movie-stars flair. The man even coloured his pale hair bright, metallic blue. Said he'd done it because it made his eyes pop. Of course, that was a lie. He'd probably crafted the look as a warning to humans—approach at your peril.

I giggle and shake my head. Davina puts her philosophical face on. "No seriously, goth is not a style, it's a way of living, of thinking. I always hated bland mainstream things. People's quest for success and money, the extreme consumerism, I could throw up thinking about it. They never stop to see the beauty around them.. it can be gone like this". She snaps her fingers in front of me, making me jump. "If that makes me a freak, then fuck it. I see myself as a realist. In the Grotto I found people that have the same outlook on life and death as me. We can be ourselves there". "I just think some of the music is a bit.. to death positive. That it is romantic to

Nero I get out of the fucked-up rental car and wait for the contact I’m supposed to be meeting with my brothers, Osiris and Orion. This small Italian town is a far cry from the sprawling urban jungle I’m used to. “The Boot’s shitstain,” I mutter under my breath, glancing around the little town that seems too perfect to be real. Quaint, picturesque, and utterly grating on my nerves. This place is nothing like home. I glance over at my brothers, both looking like they’re spoiling for a fight.

Everyone seemed ready for a hug and I was all too ready to sucker punch them at the first attempt. ​They also seemed to favor growling as well. The person I'd bumped today wasn't the first time I heard someone growl in response to a situation. I found it weird, but I couldn't blame them; I preferred grunts over words half the time. ​I look around the colorful shop, shelves filled with records and perfectly organized aisles stuffed with even more. The soft hum of vocals ran through the store as Blue himself sang along to the song which played through the store from his record player. I smile easily as I maneuver my way through the aisles in search of the cheerful old man.

No one knows how these mysterious killings brought about by a veiled creature began. Some of the people interviewed by Mark in the past admit that such a being is just a myth, it only exists in one's wild imagination. Yet he believes otherwise. He is a victim of the handiwork of the manananggal. He became an unwilling orphan at a young age because of it. He vowed on the grave of his parents that he will leave no stone unturned in searching for their killer.