Novel & Cerita Jon Snow Book Art

He released my neck before lifting my two hands above my head and capturing them in one hand, rendering me completely helpless before tugging my jaw upwards with his free hand. "Oh Snow, you don't know what you do to me." I shivered at those whispered words just as he finally covered my lips with his, trapping my husky moans in. Excerpt from; His Little Snow [18+] ©Josephine. C. Ivy

However, the truth was, my name had been cleared. I took care of everything and sold the old house, ready to leave it all behind. Hank sent word he wanted to meet, but I did not want to see him. Outside, the snowmen stood like silent guests waiting for a wedding that would never happen. Nancy, with hands purple from the cold, drew a smile on a snowman's face. She smiled at me, just a little. She looked the same as always, but she seemed really tired. When I opened the door, she ran right into my arms.

we said together, and Stella smiled. James turned eleven and started showing interest in the foundation, asking questions about how we helped companies be more ethical. "Can I help?" he asked one day. "When you're older," Emma promised. "Right now your job is to be a kid." "Being a kid is boring," James complained. "Trust me," I said. "Enjoy it while it lasts." That Christmas Patricia arrived looking healthier than she had in years, and seeing her with the kids made me grateful for every extra day we'd gotten.

Bookmaking was harder and messier than it looked. Oliver wandered through the North Pole. He was sad. Oliver knew there had to be one special job he could do even if he was little. Then he heard a sound of hooves clattering at the stables. Inside, a herd of reindeer had gathered to meet Dot, the new reindeer. She was little just like Oliver.

Onyx announces before placing a piece of brisket in his mouth and shrugging at me. No sooner than when I finished eating my food did the little boy Onyx had helped approach me. “Luna, I would like to show you something if you would like to see it?” He asks. “I would love to see it,” I announce as I stand and slowly follow him through the yard behind all the canopies. When he stops, I look around in wonder. “Look how well you all have done!” I cheer for all of the children. They have made a yard full of tiny snowmen. “Would you like to make one with us?” A little girl calls out. “Honey, maybe another time.” Her mother tries to sway her child. “How about we make a snowman with you, and then we

Snow had fallen for two days, not continuously but intermittently. The grounds were covered in a thick layer of snow, though the servants had cleared paths that made walking possible. The orchids were in full bloom, but buried beneath the snow. With a kick, the snow would scatter, and the flowers would flutter down along with it. Amid the sea of white, with purple petals drifting down, Carissa and Ryan had built a snowman. Ryan enthusiastically found two pebbles to use as the snowman's eyes, giving it a quirky, adorable appearance.

But with Jenna beside me, the urge to protect softened. “Okay,” I agreed, flipping the sketchbook back open to reveal my chaotic storm. “Just… promise not to judge.” “Promise,” she replied, leaning closer as she scanned the page. “Wow, Clara, this is powerful. You’re really channeling your feelings into your art.” I nodded, warmth creeping into my chest. “It’s all I have right now.” Jenna tilted her head, an understanding smile creeping onto her lips. “Then why not take that and create something new? Something that brings you joy?”

Swirling brushstrokes of red and dusk-blue bled into each other, anchored by a single white streak down the middle—like lightning, or a crack in glass. She’d titled it “Becoming.” ⸻ The Unexpected Visit Jonah knocked gently on her studio door around 9 a.m. He wore his usual smirk, but it was softer now—resigned. “I came to say goodbye,” he said. She put down her brush. “Goodbye, then.” He looked around the studio. “You worked harder than anyone here.” “I had more to lose.” He nodded, folding his arms. “You could have stayed.” “I know.”

He kept turning the pages. An old man, praying beside a totem. Children running and laughing below snow-covered peaks. A mountain goat whose eyes were as clear as the sky. A cluster of wildflowers swaying in the wind. Every page was filled with reverence for life, every line vivid. There were no complex compositions and no dazzling colors. They were only sketches. However, its artistic skill, genuine emotions, and lively energy were much better than the pretentious and contrived "Twin Lives". Ian's hands began to tremble.

On New Year’s Eve, Kian Newman never came home. Instead, he had someone deliver a container of frozen ravioli and sent me a single message: "Stay safe this year." I had barely locked the screen when a photo popped up in the company group chat. Isabel Wilkinson, Kian's assistant, had posted it. It was a lavish holiday dinner spread across the table, every dish clearly homemade. The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you."