Maia Poetry Book Novels & Stories

The lights were dim, as if supporting the mood of someone walking in with a mind full of chaos. Maia stood in front of the kitchen cabinet, biting her lip, staring at the glass bottle she had just found after rummaging through the rarely opened bottom drawers. A bottle of red wine, belonging to who knows whom, stored for who knows what occasion, but now it seemed to shine like a last lifeline amid the stormy waves of her thoughts. Maia opened the cap. “This is wrong. But it's even more wrong if I keep thinking until my brain explodes!” She poured a little into a glass, lifted it, and stared at her own reflection in the red liquid.

She ignored the closing hole and walked on, chanting the spell to keep the fire on her palms lit. In a matter of minutes, Maika had surveyed the whole surrounding but she couldn’t still find anything. “Is this the truth you wanted me to know!” Maika cried. “You selfish, conceited witch! To trap and kill your only daughter?” As if in response to her questions, a blinding light illuminated the room and Maika looked around. There was a bed in the center of the room and there was a book on the bed. Maika walked up to the bed and took the book. It was a diary, and from the brown and rumpled pages, she could tell that it was very old.

He turned her body to face him, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Ana." He called out the nickname only the two of them knew from years ago. "Back then, you dared to drag me back through gunfire. You dared to dig out bullets with a fruit knife. I could see you were fighting your instinctive fear, but you still did it! "You conquered yourself then. Now you've just met the wrong person and got your heart broken. Are you really going to give up on life?" Caio released her and pointed toward the vast world outside the window. "Beller City isn't the whole world, and Matteo isn't your god!

It was everything we had fought for. But peace, we were to learn, is not a permanent state. It is a quiet harbor between storms. The first sign was subtle. A flower in Kairi’s garden that bloomed a color that didn’t exist, its petals shifting through hues unknown to any world. He showed it to me with a furrowed brow, the Lawgiver in him stirring at the impossible biology. Then, Maia began to have dreams. Visions of a silent, grey city under a black sun, a place that felt both alien and terrifyingly familiar. She would wake with a start, her golden eyes wide with a dread she couldn't articulate.

“Because those gems would not have been given to you if not to Maia.” Makaia was speechless when the queen said that. She just sat there on the floor, and Maia continued to float in the air until it left the palace. Everyone who comes into contact with her light burns to ashes, which is why our enemies vanish like bubbles. As I looked at them, I didn’t know if I should help or if I should go back. But how can I return if I have no idea how? “Myxy,” I turned around when I heard my name called.

Lydia bowed her head and exited the room. Mia nodded and thanked Lydia as usual, and as soon as she exited the room she rose, picked up her dress and put it on. Then moved to the desk where the book she was yet to finish reading was. Knowing her quest to go round the world was now a pipedream, she settled for exploring through the books at her reach. ... The knock came to the door and two maidens pushed opened it and entered, without Mia's beckoning. she noticed the emerald robe with crystal designs in the younger maids hands as they stepped further in. They stopped at the centre of the room, both having a smile on their faces.

- I told him. He nodded and pulled several books out from one of the stacks and set them in front of me. I opened the top book and ran my fingers over the runes in the title. It was beautifully written as if each word was drawn with love and attention to detail. Now that I looked at it, it reminded me of a combination of Norse and Old English. Nerrian pulled his chair closer and pointed to the first word, speaking it in my mind than out loud in Draygonian. With his help, I repeated the word over and over again until I perfected it.

He likes my writing? He walked around the desk, closing the distance between us again. He looked at me with disdain, comparing me to the woman he thought wrote the book. "You could learn a lot from her," he said softly, looking deep into my eyes. "This author understands passion. She understands surrender. She writes with fire." He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. "Unlike you, Maya," he whispered. "You are just a terrified little girl pretending to know things she doesn't understand."

“Just enjoying the garden. It's peaceful here.” “Peaceful?” Maia scoffed. “You mean, you’re just sitting here, pretending like you belong.” Before I could respond, Maia lunged at me. My sketchbook was ripped from my hands with such force that I couldn’t hold onto it. “Hey!” I exclaimed, standing quickly to try to get it back, but it was too late. Maia had already started tearing through the pages, one by one. Each drawing—each piece of my effort and concentration—was destroyed.