Lullaby Palahniuk Novel Novels & Stories

Not a city. Not a chamber. Not a battlefield. A nursery. Small. Simple. Peaceful. A fire burned softly in a stone hearth. Snow fell outside a window. The room felt warm. Safe. Normal. The sight immediately confused me. Then I saw Lyra. A younger Lyra sat beside a cradle. Exhausted. Tear-stained. Holding something wrapped in blankets. A baby. The memory-Lyra looked heartbroken. And happy. At the same time.

The forest thins and then falls away, replaced by the smoke-blue wash of distant towers and the sharp, clean lines of the palace that pierce the horizon like a blade of glass. The road is long enough for silence to grow if you let it. We don’t let it. Briar talks with a dry humor that isn’t quite a joke, Tessa hums to herself a tune that sounds suspiciously like a lullaby for people about to be tested, and I stare out the window, counting the moments until my nerves decide to take a bow and leave.

Theresa was old enough to have experience, but looked young enough to please Salem’s eyes—two key requirements for a housekeeper in his home. “Where is Salem now?” I asked. A good feeding would soothe my nerves. “He’s not at home, my lady. I couldn’t tell you.” Grumbling, I headed to Salem’s library. Perhaps he had a book I could entertain myself with. Once there, I found a book lying open on a desk. It was titled Mythic Bloodlines: Lost & Fabled Lilitu. Curious, I studied an illustration on the open page. It depicted a trio of strange-looking women, just like the ones Salem had been painting all this time. The accompanying text stated:

As the night grew deeper, and as the chaos ended, with silence returning to the world, the dead girl opened her eyes”. I was felt out of ideas about what next to write in the second chapter, but I had already decided on what the name of the book will be - The Pacific Wolf Nun, that was a perfect name for it. I covered the book and joined Hazel in bed, cuddling myself up with him.

Cinderella POV. I got dressed as Pauly told me to, and the traitor went over to Lilith, what does he even see in Lilith, she's evil! He keeps saying don't judge a book by its title, but has he seen my books, the title says it all! I have a freaking story that's called Insomnia story, it's only been called that since I wrote it when I couldn't sleep at night, see the title says it all, and Lilith is bad news.

The rooftop lights have dimmed without being asked. Somewhere in the walls a soft voice is humming the lullaby I sang to children who may only exist in code. I am not afraid. Somewhere north of nowhere, a valley is still green. Somewhere a man with storm-grey eyes still says yes a thousand times every morning. Pomegranate. See you in December. The diary ends. The last page is pressed with the empty rind, stained the exact colour of forgiveness. (End of interludes)

Fear gripped her, but beneath it, a spark of that forbidden curiosity ignited—stories come to life, just like in her books. The doll approached the bed on unsteady legs, its small feet pattering against the wooden floor. Up close, its lifeless face unnerved her, painted lips frozen in a perpetual smile. But those eyes burned with something hungry, something not of this world. A dark spirit, Lila thought wildly, her mind racing to the fantasy tales she loved. The doll climbed onto the bed, its tiny hands reaching out. They were cold, smooth porcelain against her warm skin as it crawled toward her. Lila recoiled, pulling the sheet up like a shield.

I hugged them first before I finally left. Wait for me, Luna. ~~~~~ [Luna] "Wow!!" I uttered in awe. The Fairy Land is like a paradise. Many fairies were flying everywhere and greeted me when they passed by. There are also different colored trees here and it blooms beautifully. Haleyna told me that when the trees and plants bloom, they have new baby fairies coming. "Look, Luna! The baby is coming out!" they said excitedly, so I followed them up towards the huge bud of a flower.

As she did so, all signs of his feeding disappeared. He balanced the girl against the building and stared, once again, deep into her eyes. Had a passerby been able to witness the scene, he’d have marveled at the fiery, flame-like, sparks that darted from Osip’s eyes into the young woman’s lifeless stare. It would rival any fireworks show on the Fourth of July. The girl leaned against the wall and cooed as she rubbed her hands where Osip’s had once been, as if savoring his memory.