Lullaby Stories Novels & Stories

"What story would you like to hear today?" Garret seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "About Pinocchio?" Lyyana nodded and smiled. Lyyana then began to read a bedtime story from the book of 1001 bedtime stories. Lyyana was very good at reading stories; she played with her voice and tone, making Garret look so enthusiastic listening to the story she brought. Occasionally, Lyyana's storytelling was interrupted by Garret's questions. Without Lyyana realizing it, a man was recording Lyyana's activities and sending it to their superior.

“Hush now dearie, close your eyes under silver painted skies. Where lycans hum their moonlit tune, and wolves dream softly with the moon. Tiny shadows drift on air glowing warm with witches dust, while humans rest in nighttime’s quiet shade. Even gentle vampires roam, finding stars to call their home. All the world sleeps safe and deep.. So hush, my love… it’s time to sleep.” The lullaby sounded sweet, soft and familiar but.. wrong. I immediately turned around to find a cradle rocking gently in the corner of the room. Empty on the inside yet the lullaby continued even though no one besides me was there.

After a long time, he said in a husky voice, “You can count on it! I’ll see that she pays for this.” Gwynn didn’t press further. Then, Lorian woke up for a short while. He couldn’t find his voice, so he merely held her hand. Letting him nestle in her embrace, she soothed him and told him there was nothing to be afraid of. She sang him a lullaby. “Hush, little baby don't say a word, “Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird, “And if that mockingbird don't sing, “Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

“I was a pup once, alone. I know how that feels. Here, you won’t have to be.” A small cluster of pups peeked from behind their parents, wide-eyed and curious. Lyra knelt down, allowing them to approach her cautiously. She told them a story, weaving it like a fairy tale, about a brave little wolf who faced challenges alone but found a safe home among friends. The youngest, barely six, pressed close, tail wagging, and Lyra felt a pang of something she hadn’t experienced in years: hope that the next generation would be spared the loneliness she had known.

Clara had never been one for lullabies, she preferred bedtime stories even before she could understand what the stories were about. Flynn was the opposite in this. If you spoke to him, he cried, but if you sang to him he would fall asleep. I finished the third Disney song, all three coming straight out of Tangled because I lacked originality, and stayed for a few more moments to watch if he wasn’t actually faking me out and was still awake. Not that I minded whatsoever, I could look at him every minute for the rest of my life and never get bored.

Before I could stand, Lily tugged gently at the sleeve of my cardigan. "Can we have a story?" Sarah smiled apologetically. "It's getting late, sweetheart." "Just a little one," Lily pleaded, her lower lip pushing forward in a way that had always defeated every ounce of discipline I possessed. I laughed quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. Instinctively, the children shifted closer, drawn toward me with the unconscious certainty that mothers were safe places. "Alright," I whispered. "One little story." I began telling them about four tiny stars who believed they weren't bright enough to belong in the night sky. They searched for light everywhere except inside themselves until they discover

Micah cracked one eye open and grumbled, “Where’s my bedtime story?” Adrian scooped him up, kissed his sandy hair. “I’ll tell you one.” Zaya reached for me, sleepy and small and safe. I carried her inside, her head tucked under my chin — her soft breaths a promise that the future could be gentle, if we let it. We lay curled together in that tiny beachside cabana, the windows cracked open to let in the hush of the waves. Adrian’s voice drifted through the dark, telling the children about two wolves and two sisters and the lie that became a truth that saved them all.

I said with a small laugh. The remaining nighttime was spent in bedtime routines and warm baths, in stories and toothbrushes. Mirabel insisted on one of Clinton’s old bedtime tales — something about a crocodile and a mango — and I fumbled my way through the story while they giggled under their covers. When they finally dozed off, I stayed a while longer in the hallway, just watching them sleep. Japheth curled toward the window. Jake, hugging his teddy. Mirabel, one leg dangling off the bed as if dreaming of her little bride walk.

I tried getting rid of her, so I could worry alone, but then she spoke up again. "Are you going to sing me a bed time lullaby or tell me a story, since dad isn't home yet? That was when I remembered that he used to do that to her, until we left the house and I started telling her bed time stories before she goes to bed, and she seem to have grown used to it, that she wouldn't want to sleep without a song or a story. "Whitney, don't you think you are too old for lullaby and stories? I asked, teasing her, but the look on her face showed that she might cry if her wish is not granted, so I had to change what I said earlier.

The thought of what Darin might do was enough to make him shudder. Sleepy eyes looked up at Lacey as she told her story. Painting a vivid picture of the tin soldier and his ballerina. She was telling her the part where the tin soldier gets swallowed by a fish, when Sadey's eyes finally closed. Her breathing sweet and calm. Lacey got up, adjusted Sadey's covers and left the room. Having done as her sister had asked and told her the story she had asked she tell her, Lacey went to her room. Settling into the egg shaped swing.