Midnight Indigo Novels & Stories

Midnight My name is Midnight. I was born exactly at midnight, on December 29, 2002. My last name is Lipovsky, although it should be Vosse, but that's a story for another day. I am 20 years, 4 months and 2 days old. And I'm a bit weird.

Amy As the sun filtered through the towering trees, the campsite came to life with a sense of quiet anticipation. A gentle mist rose from the nearby lake, creating an ethereal veil that softened the edges of the camp. The aroma of roasted pork through the crisp morning air, mingled with the earthy scent of the forest. Tents, like sentinels of adventure, stood in neat rows, their nylon sides shimmering with dewdrops. Birds, perched on branches above, sang a harmonious chorus, welcoming the new day with cheerful melodies.

////////////////////////////////////////////// POV(FIONA), I walked down straight to the beach in my uniform heading to the serving point, darkness had took over the day and the moon came to light it up, it was a full moon tonight, and it was somewhat special. I smiled at the amazing view of the tents, the tents were arranged with ranks, the first one was for the Alpha, the second for the Beta, the third for the Zeta's, the fourth for the Gammas, the fifth for the delta and I wouldn't call the last one, a rank, but I'll say it anyway, the Omega's tent since it was our serving center, the tents were half filled, and we expected more guests. The higher-ups were clanking their cups of wine whil

MARKED BY MIDNIGHT XENIA’S POV The wind carried the scent of night jasmine through the halls. It was almost midnight, and the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind of silence that tricked you into thinking all was well — that the storm was over. But my instincts told me otherwise. There was something shifting beneath the surface. A current I couldn’t quite place. I turned away from the window and stared at my reflection in the long mirror. My hair spilled over my shoulders, untamed. My nightdress clung to my frame, the swell of my stomach barely noticeable yet. But I could feel it.

She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked under her fingers. The faint music from the party downstairs felt far away. “This is the last time,” she whispered. Her voice shook. “Before I get married.” Adrian smiled darkly. He placed his phone on the bed beside him. The video kept playing on low volume. The sound of her younger self moaning around his cock filled the quiet room. He reached out and pulled her closer by her wrist. Sienna let him. Her legs felt weak as she moved toward the bed.

Just silence that didn’t feel natural—like it was holding its breath. We stepped out slowly. The air hit me like a wall—heavy, metallic, laced with something off: rust, burnt rubber, and something faintly sour, like old blood. Above us, the sky stretched wide and gray—not fully dark, not fully light. Just suspended. The moon was half-covered in clouds, and the few stars visible flickered weakly, as if afraid of this place. Damian moved forward with purpose, his footsteps deliberate. He pulled the device from his jacket and pointed it toward the line of containers. Instantly, it buzzed—loud, shrill, urgent.

“It’s worse than I thought. The ring is starting to turn black, and soon enough won’t be able to hold that beast inside of you longer. That mark must had given it more strength. Go to your room little one. I need you to not only take that medication but to put these herbs into to a hot bath and soak in it as long as you can. I need to call your mom right now.” “No, don’t call her. She doesn’t care about me.” “Please, go do what I said now. I promise you that I will always do what is best for you.” He walks away from me, and I head toward my bathroom not understanding what’s going on. ‘Please, don’t listen to him. He’s trying to kill me and hurt you as well. We need each other.’ “I don’t even

Midnight Midnight tasted of damp stone, candle smoke, and the copper tang of old blood. I went down the service tunnel behind the holy room, recorder in one hand and brass key in the other, the black slip dress I’d picked clinging to every curve like a whispered sin. The stairs spiraled down in a tight twist, iron rail ice-cold under my palm, and each step echoed like a heartbeat in a grave. The air grew heavier with every level—older and thicker, laced with myrrh, melted wax, and something metallic that curled in my nose: blood, or memory, or both. The walls wept moisture, centuries of water beading on the rough stone, and dripping in slow, steady beats that matched the pulse between my thi

She grabbed a thin cardigan and went to open it. Her handler Midnight, the code name she’d been given stood with an unreadable expression. He was late thirties, formal British suit, polished veneer. His eyes held storm clouds. “Evening,” he said, slipping inside as she didn’t offer. “Morning,” she countered. He closed the door, standing stationary. “You walked through Velvet like a cat who knows where the red dot hides.” She closed the folder. “I’ve got what I need.” He eyed the bag. “A necklace and paranoia? Hardly enough.”

His eyes reddened with grievance as he nodded and said he could do it, then turned to get his phone. But I could not hold on anymore. My vision went black, and I collapsed. When I woke up, the sky outside was the color of dusk. I was lying in a hospital bed. Marissa stood by the window in a white shirt and jeans, her back to me. For one moment, I was in a daze. She looked like the girl from ten years ago. Back then, we had napped in a cramped rented room until evening and slept through a rainstorm. She turned around, her eyes bright with excitement.