Novel & Cerita Grandmothers Stories

AUTHOR’S POV “Grandmother, please,” the young pup begged, tugging at the hem of her grandmother’s skirt. “Tell me the story again. The one about Luna Eliza—the Luna who changed everything.” The old woman smiled as she remembered. She sat down by the fire, lifting the small girl into her lap. Outside the cottage, stars blinked in the night sky like they were listening, too. “Ah,” the grandmother sighed. “The Luna who changed everything, hmm? Well then… let me take you back to a time when the world still doubted what a woman could do.”

Yet now, it felt as if every one of my efforts had been turned into some cruel joke. In that instant, fragments of my past life surged back, replaying themselves before my very eyes. It felt as though a pair of invisible hands was dragging my entire family toward the same abyss once more. Watching Sarah's figure disappear into the distance, I felt compelled to chase after her and beg for forgiveness. However, once again, Mia's voice cut through the moment. "Grandma, you're so annoying! Why can't you just leave Mommy alone? She hates you right now. If you keep bothering her, she might actually kill herself."

Everyone could not help but surround me. The bank statement showed only 8,800 dollars in the transaction. The transaction record exposed Emerald and Amelia’s carefully crafted lies, like a sharp weapon cutting through deception. The room fell into silence. The guests’ previous disdainful looks toward me shifted to shock and suspicion as they turned to the mother-daughter pair. Their fervent discussion rose like a tide. “Oh, my god! The wedding gift is only worth 8,800 dollars instead of 880,000 dollars. Mrs. Jones, why did you tell us such a big lie?”

“About that, how did it start?” “There was a story my grandmother used to tell me when I was a tucker. There was once a king who was young and charming. He had all the riches of the continent. One night, an old lady wearing rags knocked at the golden door, asking for shelter under the stormy night.” “What happened?”

I'd come to prevent one. "The Mother is real," I told them, watching their faces carefully. "And she's gathering an army to open the gate to The First Ones." A heavy silence fell over the room. Even Reina stopped staring at me. "Those are just stories," Alpha Damon said, but I could hear the doubt in his voice. "I wish they were." I pulled a worn leather journal from my bag and put it on the table. "This belonged to my grandma. She fought The Mother sixty years ago and barely survived."

"She is?" Really, I didn't know Eroyu's grandmother was connected to the stories we were told about those men who fought for us hundreds of years ago. Cautiously sweeping my eyes over the hardened faces of the people, I began to wonder how far the story had gone, and how true it was. "I need to ask Whadh because I think he knows more than what he's telling me." Mumbling to myself, I began to count every second I would see Whadh while fumbling with the bracelet around my arm.

Now I had all of this, noise and chaos and impossible children who got to choose what they became instead of having it chosen for them. Jayden's daughter, Jayden's eldest, Five years old and fierce already, tugged my sleeve. "Grandma. Tell us the story again. About how you and Grandpa met." I laughed. "Which version?" I said. "The one where he bought me at an auction? Where he sent me into the rain? Where I almost killed him multiple times?" "The true one," she insisted. I pulled her onto my lap.

The question flattened the room. He didn't answer right away. He thought about his mother. Small woman, fierce, who used to tell him stories about wolves that guarded the old world. His grandmother had told her the same stories. Matrilineal. Passed down through women who watched their sons grow strange and didn't have the words to explain it. "I have a son," he said quietly. She blinked. "You have a—"

I couldn't actually eat it, but I could still catch the whiff of its crisp, sweet scent. Grandma asked, "Is it sweet?" I nodded vigorously, knowing that she couldn't hear me. Grandma smiled, and as she did, tears began to fall again. She then murmured, "Then that's good…" She turned around and wiped away her tears with her sleeve after saying that. … That night, Grandma told me many stories. She told me about my childhood, about how she would visit me in the city and how I would lean on her lap as she told me fairytales.

"And I tell them stories." "What kind of stories?" Herb said. This was the part that had gotten him out of bed early on a Saturday morning (his only day off from selling mattresses the rest of the week) to come over here. Willie had mentioned stories when Herb got after him for being late coming home so often. It seemed they made quite an impression on the kid, but when Herb asked what kind of stories they were Willie clammed up. The Brookwood woman shrugged. "You know: ghost stories. The kind children like. Mostly ones my grandmother told me when this was her home. I could tell you one, if you like? So you'll see that they're not so bad."