Gothic I Novels & Stories

Actually she never liked excessive interactions with other people. "You can see over there is the library. Over there, the Witch class. The moss green building is Sirens class. Well, next to it is the Vampire class. Then ...." Louisa explained all details of the existing buildings inside the Gothic Academy, while Lyla listened lazily. "Over there, the mixed class. It is held once a week." Louisa continued.

When they crossed the street, a tiptoeing boy greeted them with the flashiest smile she's ever seen, cherry lollipop sticking out of his mouth, "Gooood morning, captain! Gooood morning, ma- oh." Aster has no words for what she felt when their eyes first met. All the noises of the world became muffled, incoherent static, slowly fading into nothingness. Her surroundings gradually became blurry until all she could see was the insufferable golden-haired boy. It was electric. It was a rush of heat wave slowly making its way up from her chest, to the tips of her ears and to her head, effectively shutting down her every thought in mere seconds. A tingling sensation that coursed through every vein i

Over time, she became familiar, so when she met Elsa, she knew that Elsa had died unjustly, so she was determined to help Elsa, help her solve her injustice so that she could be reincarnated. Music sounded, was Mozart's 3rd sonata. Now that the two of them were standing in front of room 304, the music became even clearer. Who still plays music these days? Did the killer come back to room 304 to play music? Or is Elsa Hillton coming back to help her find the evidence? Dozens of questions were raised in Giselle's mind. A terrible headache was her feeling at the moment, without thinking any more, she decided to open the door of the warehouse. Indeed, room 304 did not lock the door. In the quiet

while trying not to think about how personal that reaction had felt. wikiHow stared back at him mockingly. Ask the ghost to leave. Absolutely not. Cleanse your home with white candles and lavender incense. He stared at the screen. “Does the color really matter?” Salt rings. Protective crystals. Ben snorted. He was really doing this. He crept around his house like a criminal, lighting the candles he had and pouring salt in a shaky circle around his bed. The room smelled aggressively like vanilla and pumpkin spice. He stared at the thin line of salt.

she whispered. The trees didn’t answer. But then—a sound. Low. Steady. A single howl. Not mournful. Not triumphant. Alive. It drifted across the snow-covered hills and coiled through Ironclaw like a forgotten lullaby. Grace closed her eyes. She didn’t howl back. She only whispered, “Goodbye.” Then turned and descended the tower, steps steady, leaving the wind to carry the rest.

Leaving Kallista staring at the back of his head somehow feeling even more terrible than she did before. **** Kallista stared at the grand iron gates that loomed before her, the complicated yet prestigious Hawthorne crest welded into the center. The gates slowly creaked open, revealing a sprawling estate that seemed to stretch endlessly. She tightened her grip on the wedding dress, her nerves fraying as the car rolled forward.

As I stepped out of the car, the black silk of my gown hissed against my legs—a soft, rhythmic warning I chose to ignore. The USB drive was tucked into my clutch, a tiny silver bullet meant for the heart of this empire. But as I looked up at the stone gargoyles perched on the eaves, their frozen snarls felt prophetic. I didn't feel like a hunter. I felt like a sacrifice walking willingly onto the altar.

"They beat her every single day. They burned her with cigarette butts, shocked her with electric batons, and carved words into her body." "What did they carve into her?" Jeremy's voice was shaking so much he hardly recognized it as his own. "I don't know many words." Zayne's eyes reddened, but he desperately held back his tears. "I only recognized the letter 'G.' They said she'd offended Mr. Grant's lover." Jeremy stood up so fast his chair toppled behind him. He crossed the room and seized Zayne by the collar, hauling him off the couch. "You're lying!" Zayne dangled in his grip without crying or fighting back.

With perfection in place, it called for the tortoise moves. Mother followed my pace without a word. One might have assumed she lost her voice to joy or tears of giving away her only child. Perhaps mommy was just nervous but didn't want to admit it? "Is this how she carried herself during her wedding day?" I couldn't help but feel bothered by mommy's silence. My mother, Mrs. Grey, is known for being a timekeeper. A very strict lady. Despite old age battling to catch up with her. She always wants her things done swiftly and perfectly. Mrs. Grey assumes lateness and slow pace for laziness and lack of confidence.