In The Dark Dark Wood Book Review Novels & Stories

I always give my social medi@ page but if it feels good to you and makes you happy to write a negative review and ruin all the hard work and sleepless nights I am putting into this book, then go ahead! As a writer it's really disheartening and demotivating because conveying emotions, making you laugh and cry with the words is not an easy task. In the beginning and even in the middle, I gave multiple warnings about dark theme. And if you are finding that what Damien has done to Angel is too much than you haven't actually read any dark romance yet. I am not the kind of person who rants like this or gets angry but I can't tolerate it when it becomes too much.

Hello to my beautiful readers!! Welcome onboard on this journey with me, and I’d like to say thank you all for giving this book a chance. Without further delay, I’d like to clearly state that this book is not one of your traditional Romance novels. This book is heavy with dark themes. LET ME SAY IT AGAIN, THIS BOOK IS HEAVY WITH DARK THEMES. So, if you’re uncomfortable with reading explicit sex scenes, detailed emotional, mental, and physical abuse, violence, murder, blood spillage—then this book is definitely not for you.

As I approached, a feeling of power and darkness washed over me, leaving me feeling both excited and nervous at the same time. I knew then that I had a dark magic within me, a force that could bring about change in the world around me. And as I focused my thoughts and channeled that magic, I could feel the space on the shelf shifting and changing, revealing a hidden book that had been concealed there all along.

I turned to the very last page—the one my father-in-law had been writing the day he died. The page was blank, except for a single, trembling line of ink at the top. The Weaver knows the code. The Architecture is the Grave. I closed the book, the sound of the leather snapping shut like a gunshot in the quiet car. The "Day-by-Day" was gone. We were into the "Night-by-Night" now. And as the Suburban hit the open highway, the speedometer climbing toward ninety, I realized that the 300,000 words of our story were only just beginning to get darker. And as the grey Chicago rain began to lash against the windows once again—no, as the black North Woods ice began to coat our path—I realized that I was

And just like that… the darkness thinned. I staggered upright, eyes wide now. Woods. I was standing in the woods. No. Nope. No fucking way. My heart stuttered, then kicked into overdrive. These weren’t just any woods. I knew these woods. The gnarled trees. The twisted undergrowth. The silence that felt wrong. Everything screamed one word in my head Darkhen. No no, that's not possible, I'm supposed to be fast asleep, in my comfy bed, back at Redwood. What the hell is this?

Eleanor cried out as something invisible seized her wrist and threw her hard against the table. Pain exploded through her shoulder. The athame skidded across the floor out of reach. The creature unfolded slowly from the darkness above her. Smiling now with too many teeth. “You opened the door,” it whispered happily. Lightning flashed. The thing suddenly froze. Every face beneath its skin turned toward the window at once. Toward the forest. A strange sound echoed through the storm outside. Not thunder. Something deeper. The woods themselves groaned as ancient magic tore through Blackwood Forest at terrifying speed.

At that moment, Clara knew what she wanted. The trees in the dark forest were nicotine-brown adorned with owls and crows. Its heart and center screamed of death, deprived of the light that could enliven one’s soul. But no. The place itself gave up on the light. Not any amount of brightness could lift it up from its grave. Mist covered the roots. It covered the treetops that even the moonlight failed to pass through. Deadly dapperling littered the ground. Poisonous cowbane grew next to them. The path that faded as it led into the darkness of the woods was carpeted with skeletons.

The short creaking of wood seemed unnaturally loud to her ears. The corridor beyond stretched endlessly beneath lofty vaulted ceilings supported by massive stone columns. Usually, light spilled through the tall stained-glass windows, painting the polished floor in brilliant colors. But strangely all curtains were drawn shut. The heavy crimson drapes concealed every window. Even the wall torches had no fire in them, making the entire castle dark and estranged. Estelle hugged her nightgown a little tighter as she walked. Even the echo of her footsteps unsettled her in the vast castle. She felt watched. Like every single inanimate object had grown a pair of eyes to observe her every move.

The man spared one last glance before he turned and they all left, also locking the large door. The lights went off. I was left alone in the darkness. I sat on the cold stone floor, barely any hay cushioning it, and closed my eyes. I was trying to steady my racing thoughts. If there was one thing I knew about the darkness, it was that the darker it is, the easier it is to find the light. There was always a way out, and I would find it.

Suddenly, I noticed something, a door slightly opened. My steps faltered. Was that supposed to be open? “Hello?” I called softly. No answer. Yet, the warm glow and silence stirred my curiosity, and I nudged forward. I pushed the door open slowly. A library. The only room in the mansion that felt remotely alive. Books lined the shelves, though they looked untouched and more decorative. The faux flames in the electric fireplace flickered with artificial warmth. I ran my fingers along the spines of the books. No dust. Everything is too perfect. What kind of man lives like this?