Novelas y relatos de Montresor In The Cask Of Amontillado

It showed me cracks in his control. By the time we reached the dark stone fortress the sky turned gray with dawn. Aziel carried me down a long set of stairs into the deepest part of the dungeons. The air grew cold and damp. He unlocked a heavy cell door and tossed me inside. I landed hard on the stone floor. My chains rattled loud in the quiet. He stood outside the bars. He towered there in the shadows. His golden eyes locked on me again. “Sleep well little prey,” he said. His voice was low and full of promise. “Tomorrow the real pain begins. I will test this bond until it breaks.”

Under a wobbling worktable sat a wooden crate the color of old money. I pried it open with a screwdriver and several crisp insults. Inside: six bottles, dark green, corks intact. > Château de Montclair – 1834 Grand Vin – Mise en Bouteille au Château I clutched my hoodie string like pearls. “House,” I whispered reverently, “did you… cellar?” No response. But the silence was smug. I wasn’t saying Varyn House apologized for last night’s ghostly prank with a gift of vintage wine—

Soft, yet piercing—soaked into the very grain of the door. Dante froze. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he opened the door. There, on the floor, lay a large bouquet of white lilies wrapped in black silk. Nestled among the flowers was a small shattered vial of sandalwood oil, its scent saturating the fabric. No card. No name. Just the unmistakable signature of a monster. “Marco!” Dante shouted. Marco rushed in from the balcony, his weapon already drawn. He saw the bouquet and immediately pulled Dante back inside. “Don’t touch it! There could be explosives or a tracker inside.”

The paper blackened at the edges, revealing words only when kissed by flame: “Isabelle, if you’ve found this, the city is not what you believe. We bound the fire once, with our blood. But now the seal weakens. If you do not rekindle the flame with knowledge and will, it will burn uncontrolled. Duskmoor is a tomb built atop embers. The Vale boy knows more than he says. But he is not your enemy. He was bound to you, long before you were born. —E. Montrose”

The command is absolute, leaving no room for argument. The line goes dead. True to his word, in under ten minutes, a young man with a soldier’s posture stands in my doorway. His eyes are flint, scanning me with cold efficiency. The bulge of a pistol is visible beneath his tailored black jacket. For a second, doubt paralyzes me. Then he extends a sealed note. I recognize the bold, slashing handwriting immediately. It contains a single, confirming phrase only Antonio would know. My last shred of hesitation evaporates. I place the small cosmetic bag into his waiting, gloved hand.

she added, her tone dripping with malice. The manor's dark halls seemed to reverberate with their diabolical laughter, a chilling, mirthless sound that sent shivers down my spine, as if the very walls were alive and reveling in the chaos. Cassius's face turned beet red, his eyes bulging as he choked on his mead, Amarantha's laughter joining in, a low, husky sound that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.

He knew exactly how much energy it was taking her to simply remain upright. Between them, spread across the small mahogany pull-out table, were the decrypted files Marcus had managed to salvage from the sinking ruins of the White Tower. The leather-bound tablet showed a complex map of Paris, but it wasn't a map the tourists would ever see. It was a digital rendering of the city’s ancient quarry tunnels, the vast underground labyrinth that stretched beneath the left bank of the Seine, highlighted in a faint, ominous violet hue.

she repeated. Terry turned the dimmers to full. Fluorescents flared. The chamber sharpened: cables like veins, the Worm crouched and waiting, and—across the hall—a mural waking. Where soot had flaked, pigment breathed. The boy’s hands were lifted not in fear but offering; the Minotaur’s eyes had found a red no torch should give. Jessica swallowed whatever that did to her and stepped to the breach with Module 22 live. She aimed the tablet’s camera at the new edges, scanning for any carved line that hadn’t seen light in eighty years.

Sitting on the leather sofa quietly, alone in the chamber, Aurora stared at two glasses of water placed on the desk in front of her. She took a glance at the closed door, listening for any sound of movements outside. Quiet. Without hesitation, she strode to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the whole wall in the living room. Shelf seven, the bottom layer, The Count of Monte Cristo. Aurora quickly located the book and flipped the pages until she found a small brown bottle of liquid placed in a square hollow among the pages.

I have failed before. Now, I promise; No matter what happens. I will always protect you. Henri. ------------------------------------------- March 22, 2300 | New Moon | Illumination: 0% The quest of missing a two-headed bracelet. -------------------------------------------- 'Canto XXXIV.' When he opened his eyes, the word 'Canto XXXIV.' appeared. He was lying on the floor of the pool. He can hear a commotion from the people around. In his still blurry vision, he saw a boy diving in the pool. He wanted to withdraw from water, but his body was still frozen.