Graveyard Keeper Silk Novels & Stories

Without a word, I walked into the store, with Grace following closely behind. The storekeeper greeted us with a respectful bow. "Greetings, gentlemen! How may I assist you?" Grace chuckled at the storekeeper's mistake, but I didn't correct him. Instead, I offered a small smile as I approached the neckpiece. It was even more breathtaking up close – a beautiful, gold-plated silver necklace featuring an intertwined knot pendant with a garnet stone. I asked the storekeeper, "How much for this, sir?" The storekeeper's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not for sale. It's an antique piece I've had for years."

Approving of her natural makeup and up-do setting off the outfit, she turned from the mirror and grabbed an oversized black bag. Carefully, she placed the urn in the bag. Briefly she considered taking her collar off the urn and wearing it. She decided that the silver collar with the three hearts and single triskele belonged with her men. Taking the bag and dropping her wallet in it, she told Scruffles to behave as she left the apartment.

Instead, he leaned back, eyes flicking briefly to the papers spread across his mahogany desk. Sketches. Design flats. Some half-rendered on tracing paper, others painted in thick gouache. Vibrant gemstone hues layered with dark ink strokes that sliced across each silhouette like wounds. I reached out and pulled one closer. A gown of storm-grey silk, hand-embellished with blackened crystals, draping like grief given form. “These aren’t yours,” I said quietly. Mike sighed. “They’re Eloise’s.” I let out a small sound, not quite a hum, and traced the neckline with my gaze. Raw and personal. Unlike anything saturating the market’s over-polished displays lately.

He didn’t speak again. As the healer prepared to leave, Kareen intercepted her near the gates. “Thank you,” Kareen said quietly, holding out a wrapped box — gold-threaded silk around a carved locket. The healer refused it with a smile. “I didn’t come for gifts. But tell your son—” she looked toward Kane in the distance “—tell him to stay awake. Peace is the silence before another storm.” Kareen frowned. “What are you saying?” The healer’s eyes softened. “I hear whispers in the wind, Lady Kareen. The kind that speak of vengeance wearing silk gloves.”

Bring her back. She turned. Diva's heart shattered—relief, anger, grief colliding. She wailed aloud. "Derek, no." He hesitated, doubt in his eyes. Eamon pushed back his hood, and the Keeper's face was revealed—another, one they did not know. The genuine Keeper smiled. "I keep the relic safe from those who would abuse it. Light and dark alike." Derek stepped forward, the sword falling from his grasp with a clatter. "Keep back from her."

"You passed out as we came out of the cemetery" She looked back and saw the average iron gate of the cemetery, it was silver in color and the color was almost washed off already. She could see the walls surrounding it and it wasn't as high as the ones she saw while she was in the cemetery. She couldn't figure out how that was possible or why everything was going this way but she was glad she came out of there. "But.." Tasha still looking confused "But what?" Austin leaned closer immediately, looking worried. He had no idea why she fainted, but he was just glad she was okay. He wasn't ready to witness another death, let alone be there when it happened.

I called quickly. She paused slightly. “What is that?” “Instructions from Mr. Kane.” That was all she said before leaving as the door shut softly behind her. Silence swallowed the room again. I stared cautiously at the garment bag. “This better not be human remains.” I muttered. Slowly, I stepped forward. The zipper sounded unnaturally loud as I pulled it down carefully. Then stopped breathing for a second. The dress inside was stunning. Black silk spilled elegantly beneath the light like liquid darkness itself. The fabric shimmered subtly while silver detailing traced across the waist and sleeves beautifully.

"Yes. The ceremonial silks. Why speak of this now?" "The other night, at the High Market, I found two vintage tunics," Madison continued, her voice dripping with false concern. "They were woven with the Simpson sigil. I bought them for Avery as a peace offering. But today, seeing the portraits of your mother... I realized those weren't just tunics. They were her burial shrouds." Rachel stood so abruptly her chair scraped like a bone on stone. "Are you certain? Those are relics of the Pack!" Madison pulled out her glowing communication stone, showing images of the delicate, ancient lace. "I recognized the craft instantly. I gave them to Avery days ago."

Leah I hesitated, then lifted the lid. Inside lay a gown—black as midnight, woven from something impossibly fine. Tiny moonstones were stitched into the fabric, catching the light in soft, silvery pulses. I stared. “This is…” “Moon-goddess silk,” he said, shaking it out and holding it up to me. The material shimmered against my skin in the mirror. His long fingers traced the neckline idly—deliberately. “Light protection against wolfsbane. Thought you might need it tonight.”

Moving with practiced discretion, he slipped his hand into the folds of my silk robe, pressing a fresh, chilled glass vial into my palm. “Drink it before the ink dries,” Silas murmured, his breath barely brushing my ear. “Ensure you survive the day.” “Thank you,” I breathed, quickly concealing the icy vial in my sleeve. The head tailor stepped into my line of sight, proudly holding up the ceremonial gown. It was a stunning, structured masterpiece of midnight-black silk, woven with real silver thread that mimicked the phases of the moon along the heavy hemline. The bodice was reinforced with delicate, flexible chainmail plating.