Mothwing Cloak Novels & Stories

"Brought you something." "If that's what I think it is," "It's a cloak. Made it myself. You're wearing it over your dress." Alerion turned slowly. "She's not wearing a cloak." "She's absolutely wearing a cloak. I spent three weeks making this." "I don't care if you spent three years. She's not wearing it." "Why not?" "Because cloaks are impractical for a ceremony where she needs to move freely and quickly if something goes wrong." "It's not that heavy. Look," Zane shook it out. The whole thing was covered in tiny embroidered wolves. Silver thread on blue fabric. It was actually really pretty. "See? Lightweight. Easy to move in. And it represents her bloodline."

In silence. In choices. In ghosts no one saw but me. The candle I lit sputtered before catching, its flame twitching like it, too, wanted to flee. I didn’t blame it. I moved to the armoire, pulled out the green velvet cloak stitched with the sigil of my mother’s bloodline. Not royal. Older. Wilder. The wolves that ran before there were thrones. My fingers lingered on the embroidery, the serpent with wings, swallowing its tail. I draped it around my shoulders and fastened the clasp like armor. Not for warmth. For warning.

She sighed, shuffling over to him nervously. "I bought you a traveling cloak for our journey and travels," he told her, gesturing her to follow him. She was about to protest, but she choked on her words when he grabbed one of the hooded cloaks from his horse, Renata. The cloak was black with maroon lining and stitching. He was already draping the lush material over her shoulders and fastening it accordingly with amethyst gemstones decorating the fasteners. His eyes scanned over her body, obviously satisfied what he saw.

Embroidered with golden Moon Goddess totems and star tracks, it represented the high-Luna status. The matching shawl, woven in azure and gold, featured flowing clouds and wolf crests. The headpiece, studded with over ten blue and red moonstones, had delicate cyan bone-like extensions at the back, slightly upturned like wolf ears. Considering the winter ceremony, a special cloak accompanied the gown. Lined with rare beast fur, it was embroidered with blooming Moon Goddess flowers before being sewn together, symbolizing clan prosperity. Following werewolf tradition, the only occasion transcending norms, the cloak's edges also bore simplified silver wolf patterns.

The once busy roads of the Kingdom of Myrthana were mostly empty. Except for Orcs and mercenaries, almost no one dared travel between towns or villages. The road to Erylas, the capital of Myrthana, was empty except for four riders and their horses. A fifth horse had the carcasses of two deer and some pelts and furs. The riders were dressed simple—trousers, pants, and cloaks. The cloaks were mottled grey, green, and brown. A man with wings was embroidered on the left side of the cloaks—the mark of the Dark God. The riders had the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, and shadows hid their faces. They rode in silence, studying the dusty road or the green forest.

In a lighter shade of gray underneath it, she wears a mid-thigh length hooded sweater dress with black over-the-knee boots. We knew she was a council witch because all the witches from the council wear the same cloak design as her's, but in different colors. They are color-coded by what kind of magic the witch is linked to. Blue is for powers related to water, red for fire, green for earth, and purple for wind. I had never seen a gray cloak before, except today. The brunette completely ignored us and walked in Naomi's direction. I stand up and step forward, giving a warning growl.

"You? You get a gold bar for burying a coffin. If your brother could do the job, wouldn't it be better? "You've laid to rest so many young souls, maybe it's your turn now." Mom's face twisted into something monstrous, her arms and legs jerking towards me like a puppet on strings. I sobbed and stumbled backward, "Mom, it's me, Silvia, what are you doing?" "The Haunts world is here. No one's going to make it out alive. I know how your blood calms the wind. Maybe if we drain it dry, they might spare us."

His steps are sure, his body rigid, as he moves into a clearing, and the fogs rolls out, revealing six witches in dark cloaks, their hoods shadowing their faces. All but one. “It’s not often we have the honor of hosting a king in our coven,” Morgathra says as she bows low, her black cloak picking up dirt and leaves as she rises. She has raven black hair so straight and thin it’s easily picked up by the lightest of breezes that snakes through the forest all around her. Her eyes are dark and glassy–a very dark shade of green, I realize. She’s odd looking. She seems so young–her voice is so lifted and lightly seductive when she speaks, when she greets my father with another dramatic bow, that I

"Thank you, Aunt Cleo. This means a lot to me." The pendant Aunt Cleo gave Aqua was nothing short of mesmerizing. Crafted from sterling silver, the pendant was shaped like a delicate crescent moon, symbolizing the mysterious and potent nature of Aqua's powers. At the center of the crescent nestled a large, oval-cut gemstone that was uniquely clear, like a drop of captured morning dew. The clarity of the stone made it particularly special, as it reflected Aqua's emotional state, changing color with her mood. Intricate filigree work adorned the crescent moon, with tiny symbols and runes etched into the silver, each representing protection and strength. The craftsmanship was exquisite, making i

The embroidery seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, casting a subtle glow on the fabric. The coat, fitted to perfection, showcased Liam's broad shoulders and regal stature. A silver brooch, a family heirloom, adorned the lapel, securing a cloak that billowed gracefully as he moved. The cloak itself was a masterpiece, crafted from the finest materials and lined with a delicate pattern that echoed the flora of the winter garden.