Madness Table Novels & Stories

*‘MAKE HER SUBMIT? The rage that boiled inside me was a white-hot inferno. Eon didn't just go into a frenzy. he exploded. I lost the fight in a single, blinding instant. He made us shift completely this time, our clothes shredding like paper as bone and muscle reformed. A vicious snarl ripped from our jaws as everyone scrambled back. The massive table was overturned, chairs skittering across the marble floor. Saliva lathered our jaws as our mind link boomed through the room, a psychic roar of pure possessive fury.

She hurriedly left and got ready to go back to think of a way to bail Andrius out soon. Crack! Crack, crack! Just then, strange noises sounded in the room. Carson and Charlie both looked in the direction of the sound in confusion. Soon, their gazes landed on the solid mahogany table. Crack… “What...” Both of them could not help but gasp at what they saw. The brand-new mahogany table had countless fine cracks webbing across it, originating from the glass shards stuck in it. It was as dense and intricate as the roots of an old tree!

Now, he found himself waking up on this table, wrapped up like a present, with no recollection of how he got there. The madman began to hum along to whatever melody he was listening to, startling the frightened man on the table, who stopped struggling to watch the madman twirl around as if he had no cares in the world. “You're quite the distraction, my ‘Heart.’ I'm starting to get an erection just from listening to the sound of your voice,” the madman muttered to himself, but the man on the table heard him loud and clear. “What was that?” the madman asked, turning a deathly gaze toward the man. For a brief moment, the man's breath caught in his throat, and he stared, frozen, into the eyes of

I banged my fists on the table and yelled. "DON'T YOU HAVE SOMETHING CALLED BRAIN IN YOUR THICK SKULL? YOU BLOODY, PATHETIC SCUM, WILL YOU BE ABLE TO COMPLETE THIS HUMONGOUS JUNK IN FUCKING FOUR HOURS? I BET YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SOLVE ONE WITH YOUR PUNY FINGERS, YOU HALF-PINT ASSHOLE!!" "SHUT UP!!" I flinched when Noah banged his fists on the desk. He abruptly stood up from his chair. The chair landed on the ground with a loud thud. He marched towards me angrily and grabbed my elbow harshly.

“Aw, and here I was hoping the ‘sir’ would stay. Yes, I’ll get it, but we need to discuss the problem that thing presents.” “That is not the problem. The dickwad is the problem,” Beth says with her hands on her hips. Again I felt that nice warm, fuzzy feeling. “You’re both right. The notebook and Kirk are the problems. Which is why I want to at least destroy the notebook. Kirk, I will figure out what to do with later.” “So you don’t think you’re crazy anymore?” Matt asks. “Is one every sure they’re not insane? How can we really know what we experience in this world is the actual reality of the situation?” I ask back.

Thousands of miles away from where Leesa and Rave said their goodbyes to Dominic, five shadowy figures sat in a large, dimly lit room, gathered around a dark, round table at least ten feet in diameter. The table’s smooth surface was fashioned out of a special, highly polished material that looked almost like black glass. Candles flickered in brass sconces on the chamber’s stone walls, but strangely, none of the light reflected off the top of the table. The dark surface seemed to swallow any illumination that struck it. In addition to the five occupied chairs, four more sat vacant.

She continued, "Remember when Dr. Williams finally managed to extract that formula, and the test tube mysteriously shattered? The only person in the lab that night was Victoria. "Then, there were Dr. Lambert's documents, which were suddenly covered in ink. Who in this place has more ink on hand than she? And what about all those half-finished samples that kept disappearing and messing up our progress every time? "Has no one thought that maybe it wasn't just bad luck? She's the only one with a personal connection with Connor, who's the only one with keys to the lab. Who else has such a convenient excuse to get her hands on them without anyone realizing?

Their gasp was real, a shocked catch of breath which was still hanging. Grant, at the head of the table, was quiet, his rock-like face not changing, but his eyes fixed on Maddison. Across from her, Marcus stood puffed out, winner's glint in his eye, waiting for her to give up. He had placed his bet, a good one, and now was simply waiting for the blast. He was hoping for tears, for sorry words, for a scared, wild cry of defense.

"That means the lady has connections with us, so you can't take her away by force. Ruin our interests and Moonlit will come after you like hounds.” The man with the cup then swallowed his fear of Adrian and spoke up, "This works both ways. The owner of this place won’t let you take her away anyway." Though they were scared of Adrian, they would be able to go about their merry ways as long as Marissa was willing to stay. Adrian could not do a thing. Crack! Adrian slashed at the table in the middle of the room. The table, along with everything on it, turned into fragments that fluttered to the ground.

Finally, he fixed his gaze intensely on the plain white vase. There were no flowers inside. Anise used to change the flowers every day. Sometimes, she put roses still glistening with morning dew. Other times, it would be wild daisies she picked from the roadside. She used to say that a house only comes alive with flowers. But now, the vase stood empty and hollow as if its soul had been drained. Arthur continued to feel a strange, discomforting tightness in his chest as he went toward the dining room. The surface of the table was made of sleek, polished marble. Gone was the colorful tablecloth Anise used to decorate the table with.