Human Skin Wallpaper Story Novels & Stories

Aefstine was feeling warm and cozy, sitting on a well cushioned chair by the fire and a book ‘stolen’ from the castle's library in his hands. He had told the guard not to let ANYONE enter without knocking, and stripped down to a night shirt. The book he was reading was in Maudinian, but he was having fun with the pictures. Apparently, Frost Giants were like humans, but way taller and their skin were a shade of grayish white. Once born, their skin will be blue in color then turn grayish white upon growing up, just like what Cealy had told him.

[he was trouble] . My eyes rove up and down, assessing the man oozing with confidence and charm. He is wearing a suit with sleeves pulled back specifically to show his ringed fingers. From the four rings on his left hand, my eyes move to the skin that lay beneath. His skin is a rich, tan color, and it is the kind one will find in Malt; the cereal grain. His tan skin is even, it is the same shade all round his body; beautiful and impeccable. That tells me that this man has never once suffered a day in his life. He is true royalty, possibly had the throne passed down to him.

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 - The woman comes out of the shower naked, a towel wrapped tightly around her skeletal body. She's so thin, you can see her hip bones sticking out through the thick fabric. I don't like what I am seeing. Yeah, this is some other man's fantasy. But then what is mine? Mine. like someone can ever love a monster like me.

“I know what’s best for you.” I let out a bitter laugh that held no humor. “Do you really? Then look at me, Mom. Look at me.” With shaking hands, I tugged at the collar of my shirt, pulling it down and baring my chest. The fabric gave way, revealing the truth I’d hidden for weeks. My skin, once whole, was rotting in patches. A sickly gray and black spread like a disease across my flesh, reeking faintly of decay. I’d covered it with makeup, with creams, lying to myself that it wasn’t real. But now there was no hiding it.

He growled lowly and smacked his head into the side of my leg. “No!” I growled back and kicked him away. Gunner’s wolf snorted and huffed. He snapped his head back and slowly the silver fur receded into his human skin. Gunner stood back upright on two human legs, naked and in full view. I tried to avert my eyes, but it was like I lost any and all function over my body. My hungry gaze traced over every bump and every dip that his muscles created. His smooth creamy skin was basically hairless, with broad shoulders and thick defined biceps. The soft pink battle scars that marred his chest and arm only added to his painstaking beauty. My eyes followed the natural path that his muscles created, p

The kind that happens when something enters a room that nobody was prepared for. I go still. I don’t look at anyone. I stare at the wall directly in front of me and I breathe, slowly, through my nose, and I feel the air on my back and I know exactly what they can see and I don’t move a single muscle. The scars don’t lie. They never have. They’re not the clean, faded kind that can be explained away as childhood accidents or a medical procedure. They’re the kind that have a story, and the story is ugly, and every woman in this room is currently reading it whether they want to or not.

Surrounding her were four creatures—my creatures. The skin walkers were grotesque, their bodies hunched and skeletal, with gray, leathery skin stretched too tight over their bones. Their limbs were long and twisted, their clawed hands scraping against the stone floor. Their faces were nightmares given form—eyes sunken deep, mouths filled with jagged teeth and unnaturally long, writhing tongues that licked across Aurora’s arms and neck. Aurora screamed again as one of them dragged its tongue across her cheek, leaving a glistening trail behind.

Lyra Ashfang POV I rushed out of the steaming bathroom and slammed a thick wad of linen against my nose, leaning my skinny, four-foot-five frame heavily against the dark stone wall while my chest heaved. My inner wolf vibrated with absolute, mortified heat, her claws scratching at my consciousness because the sheer, raw sight of his massive, scarred torso had completely short-circuited my brain. The crimson fluid soaked through the fabric rapidly, refusing to stem no matter how hard I pressed, my pitch-black skin flushing a deep, burning violet under the heavy pressure of my rising arousal.

Purple and black, layered on top of layers. Skin that pale was almost translucent. The cracks in my fingernails were still there. Where some had been ripped off, the new skin underneath was no longer pink. The blood had drained from it. It had turned wax-pale. Almost see-through. He reached out and touched my face. I could feel him shaking. His whole body was shaking. Cold. The cold of a body that's finally stopped trying to hold its own warmth. My skin didn't give under his fingers. The curve of my mouth was set hard.

My body aches from the long journey and the hardships I have endured, every muscle crying out for rest, but my mind refuses to settle, replaying every moment since my escape in vivid, painful detail. There's a small fireplace in the corner with only a music player placed carefully on top of it. The wallpaper is designed with a beautiful black and white painting, a kind of black history artwork that tells stories of struggle and resilience through its intricate lines. I look at it for a long time, tracing the details with my eyes and feeling a strange connection to the pain captured there, before I notice it is directly drawn onto the wall and not a pasted wallpaper at all. It must have cost