Gothic I Novels & Stories

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

All because of her. She took more of him, pushing farther until the sensitive head brushed the back of her throat, and the reflexive gag that followed made her pull back with a startled sound that turned into a soft moan of her own. The sensation only fueled her determination, desire pushing her to try again, to learn the limits of what she could do. Without the need to breathe, she could push herself further than she ever could have when she was alive. “Fuck… fuck… I’m close,” he managed to groan, the words strained and uneven.

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.

We were near a small clearing, and I thought I could sketch the landscape. I sang softly to the song that I asked them to play at my fathers funeral, "Yelling at the sky, Screaming at the world. Baby, why'd you go away? I’m still your girl, Holding on too tight, Head up in the clouds, Heaven only knows where you are now..." Hunter laid across my legs, as I drew in my book. "How do I love? How do I love again? How do I trust, How do I trust again? I stay up all night, tell myself I'm alright. Baby, you're just harder to see than most, I put the record on, wait ’til I hear our song. Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost. Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost..." I pulled out the unopened

I sat down, crossing my legs slowly so my short skirt rode up my thighs. At exactly 3:00, Professor Black strode in sipping coffee in a mug that says “Gothic Literature destroys life”.His eyes found me immediately and darkened with raw interest. “Welcome to Advanced Gothic Literature,” he began, his rich, commanding voice filling the room. “Today we discuss obsession. What it costs… what it takes from you… and what it builds in its place.” His gaze returned to me as he slowly asked the question. “Miss Vale,” he said suddenly, eyes locking onto mine. “You’re new so tell the class: what would you destroy to get what you truly want?”

“Take a seat.” I found an empty chair in the back room, hyper aware of his eyes following me. When I finally settled in and looked up, he was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. “As I was saying,” Professor Vane continued, “Gothic literature explores the forbidden, what the world as we know it now calls abnormal, the desires we tell ourselves we shouldn't have. The attractions that defy logic and morality.” Each time his eyes flicked back to me, my cheeks burned.