Isadora Quagmire Novels & Stories

Is this Emery? I knew Hendrix said she was horrible but I didn’t imagine her like this. He moves his face back to face the woman and says, “A pleasure to see you again, Isadora.” Isadora? Who the hell is that? But she isn’t looking at him. No, her icy gaze is settled on me. Isadora is insanely intimidating. She has a dark skin color, but her hair is as white as snow, such a contract compared to her skin color. Her eyes are an icy blue that I swear are closer to white than they are blue. And she doesn’t like me.

Cowering in front of him would only give him what he wants to see, my pain and suffering, and I won't give him that. He's already humiliated me by stripping me of my clothes ever since I was taken prisoner. “Why don't you just reject me? Tell me how I can reject the mate bond and I'll do it right now,” I tell him, my tone akin to a plea. “No—” Before he can say any more, there’s a knock at the door, and it opens. A towering woman with long wavy red hair, as tall as King Sven himself, steps inside. I recognize her, though we’ve never met — I’ve heard stories about her. She’s Isadora, King Sven’s beta, and one of the strongest warriors in the Kingdom of Māui. She gives me a once-over before sh

The woman looked at me with disdain and said, “You've learned terrible manners from the wolves!” “Who are you?” I maintained my defensive pose. “I am the reclusive witch Isadora, the shadowy one.” She smiled proudly. “We will test your heart, your faith, and your intentions before we impart our knowledge to you, hybrid... We no longer want to contribute to corrupted souls!” “Corrupted souls?” I stared at her, raising my snout in her direction. “Are you talking about my sister, Agatha?” “The women in your family don't have a good history with us.” She shrugged.

They laugh about the banshees wailing through the quad, whisper about the creatures picking their teeth with the bones of first-years, hum hymns of doom that were old when the founders still breathed. But tonight, they are louder. Too loud. I find Isadora in the bottom of the scriptorium, standing near the window as though the storm might answer her instead of me. The candles have guttered to weak spines of flame, and the lightning outside paints her in white flashes—fragile one second, terrible the next. The kind of girl who could be mistaken for a saint in the chapel and a demoness in the crypt. She doesn’t notice me slip in. She rarely does. The shadows carry me like a lover.

“I did.” They spun. Blades drawn. But no attack came. A woman stepped forward from the shadows—Isadora, High Huntress of the Iron Claw tribe, one of the few who hadn’t taken sides when the war began. She was tall, severe, her dark hair braided with bones of enemies long dead. “You’re supposed to be dead,” Rhys said coldly. “Funny,” Isadora replied. “I thought the same of you, my mad friend.” Elara stepped forward. “Why now? Why reveal yourself?”

Sorelle and her whole group of maids turn completely pale like white winter snow in one microsecond. The wolf speaking the truth is Isolde Grimfen, the most quiet, low omega maid inside the fortress, and it is super obvious to my brain that her heart had to summon every single ounce of puppy courage just to say those words out loud. Now, with every eye in the hall staring straight at her skin, her limbs are visibly trembling with fear.

Trigger Warning: Short account of SA below. I do not support these actions, on this count, it is essential to the plot. Three women walked into the room and a man stood by the door. With rattles and clacks, Isadora was freed from the chains that bound her and she slumped into the arms of another lady, too weak to hold herself up. Isadora heard a grunt and felt herself being taken up on a shoulder. Unable to keep track from a blank mind, the next thing she could decipher was being kept in a mass of water.

Isa stood amaze at first, staring at the pictures placed in front of her, they were places of where she went yesterday, but the only thing is, Thomas was there as if they had gone out together, it was well edited that it was as if she was smiling at him. And then, the last picture was her, cuddling in on the bed, she could tell she was naked, the bedsheets covered her lower half, while her chest was covered by him, with only her back showing. "Isadora Meave Paige, what are you playing at," Sophie boldly asked, in front of everyone. With everyone looking at her with hate in their eyes, Xavier thought he would come to the rescue, he had found out their plan late at night, his secretary had wat

My feet feel unsteady beneath me as the warmth of our surroundings is replaced with a cold, dark, cave-like area. There are people walking to and from areas of the cave. Some writing at tables, others lighting candles and whispering something near them. They all look like me. Their hair is white like mine, and their eyes are nearly transparent blue as well. I scan the room until my eyes land on her. Kathrine showed me plenty of pictures for me to memorize, and I would know her from a mile away. "Your mother's power will be lost with you. The last of the ice coven."

I was looking for Annalise, with all her quirks and fire and infectious laughter. “I appreciate the offer, Anne,” I said, gently pulling away. “But I’m perfectly content with a little… quirkiness in my life.” A slow smile spread across my face, genuine and unwavering. Isabella’s carefully constructed facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of genuine surprise flitting across her eyes. Then, with a toss of her head and a haughty laugh, she sashayed away, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the weight of her unspoken challenge.