Gothic Table Runner Novels & Stories

At the very center of the table sat an Evil Doll. The doll was only about half a foot tall, dressed in a kimono. The silk fabric shimmered with an eerie luster in the dimness, embroidered with intricate golden vine patterns. Some of the gold threads had already worn out, revealing the dark base beneath, resembling dried bloodstains.

The image was so fast that I couldn't define what it was, but she had maddeningly fascinating designs all over her back going down to her lower back and wherever else it went. I poured the wine into my own glass as I entered my room and looked down at the notebook in my hand, leaving the black handkerchief she'd forgotten with me over my leg as she sat in the chair at my end table. The relief on the cover had a snake biting a rose, with beautiful arabesques in a very dark shade of brown, on the cover there was her last name, I understood Arabic briefly so as not to become familiar with the Aistarabaw under the snake in Egyptian Arabic. His family crest, my conviction as I thought of the imag

“No, no. That is not the way. The goblet must be placed to the right of the charger, never before. The blade’s edge must face the plate, and the napkin, folded in the crest pattern, ought to rest atop the bread dish. And for the love of the moon, align the goblets to catch the candlelight, not shadow it.” The hall shimmered in preparation: banners of deep crimson and sable hung from gilded sconces, each embroidered with the sigils of the highborn. Long garlands of winter herbs juniper, thyme, and frost-laced sage draped the arches, their scent mingling with the aroma of roasted meats wafting from the lower kitchens. Wrought-iron candelabras held beeswax tapers that danced with golden light,

Tyrant Luciano Zarkov I stood motionless near the long table covered with fabric swatches, floral arrangements, and sketches of gowns while at least a dozen planners, tailors, and designers spoke over one another in hushed but urgent tones. The air carried the scent of fresh lilies, aged parchment, and the faint metallic tang of expensive ink. None of it held any interest for me.

The banners bore two crests side by side — the wolf sigil of Kael’s house and the moonlit rose of the vampire court. I stood in the small chamber just off the main hall, my hands resting against the carved wooden dressing table. My reflection stared back at me, framed by the delicate lace veil draped over my dark hair. The gown I wore was unlike anything I’d ever imagined for myself — midnight silk that caught the light with every shift, embroidered with silver thread in the shape of curling vines and running wolves. “You look like the kind of woman who could topple a kingdom,” a voice drawled from the doorway.

A long wooden table sat in the center, polished to a smooth shine, with enough chairs to seat twenty, though only six would be dining tonight. A chandelier hung overhead, its candles flickering softly, casting a gentle glow over the room. The table was neatly arranged with silver cutlery, fine china, and crystal glasses that caught the light. A simple embroidered runner stretched down the middle, and a few silver candelabras stood along it, their flames swaying slightly. The air carried the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread, mingling with the faint perfume of flowers placed in small vases along the table. Carmen was the last to arrive.

It was only a few feet away from Jaxson's seat, so I moved slowly and quietly to avoid disturbing him. I trail my fingertips over the motifs on the side tables, which have three vases and two photo frames. The duchess satin, which has a leopard print layered on it, is also interesting. This seems to be the only place in Jaxson's office with this type of print.

Each varying in style and each in their own display case with an interior light shining down on them making even the smallest of gems sparkle. There was an altar of sorts at the further end of the room. It was covered in a white silk fabric with green and white ivy vines wrapping around its four legs and acting as garland at its flat surface. There were soft white lights above the altar resembling hanging christmas lights. On each side of the table there were unlit candles. In the middle sat a ornate silver goblet and in front of that was a dagger of shorts with a handle encrusted with diamonds and sapphires.

I strode through the great hall, hands brushing over fabrics as the attendants laid them out for my inspection. “Not that one,” I snapped at a servant who held up a tapestry bearing my great-grandfather’s crest. “Too worn. It reeks of age, not of honor. Bring the one with the silver-threaded wolf. The one commissioned for my coronation feast.” “Yes, my lord,” the servant stammered and hurried away. I walked further down, studying the long rolls of carpet unfurled across the stone. Some were scarlet, some a deep blue, others gold-threaded. My mother had an eye for detail sharper than a hawk’s; she would notice even the smallest misstep.