Mystery Name Novels & Stories

My face twisted in anger, I wasn’t ready to be anywhere near cameras and crowds. “I can find us outfits…” “They have already sent us something to wear,” “Do we know this person?” Maya asked. “I guess there is only one way to find out,” There was something about the name that caught my attention. It felt familiar but very distant. But most importantly, the mystery of its existence made me more curious. A curious cat dies a slow death, I should have heeded the warning.

I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Lennox stepped closer. Too close. I could smell the gunmetal on him. The faint trace of nicotine. The cold scent of someone who has killed and doesn't lose sleep over it. He studied Annalise's face again. "What's your name?" She hesitated for half a second. Then, softly, "Annalise." "Full name." She swallowed. "Annalise Misty." He stared at her like he was trying to peel her skin off and look underneath.

He needed a name. Because right now he had Marcus Grey running federal operations with the full backing of his reinstated position. He had the mafia society president playing both sides with his rings and his pipe and his comfortable certainty. He had Kishva Vallendina in Montenegro connected to an untraceable number. He had eight unregistered faces in a biometric database including one woman he had not identified yet. And somewhere above all of it he had a name he did not know yet. Vilkador Lorriel.

WHO TOLD YOU YOU COULD TOUCH WHAT'S MINE? They both stare at each other in confusion then realization... (( The rouge! Jewel! It has to be her scent you're smelling )), after hearing her name I retake control of my body << Jewel? is that her name? >> (( It has to be Jewel, we both shook her hands at the supermarket then she bumped into me after so that's why I smell the most of her )) << Jewel, what a beautiful name >> I then felt the sudden need to see her for myself the person I've been searching for.

He wipes his face with a spare hanky. Why can’t he find it? He pulled out his phone from his pocket. He searches about it then. There had to be something. But what’s he gonna search. Mystery girl? Demon? There must be an ancient name for her. Or there isn’t. He was exhausted already. He ruffled his head, if he didn’t get anything, Dixon would end up killing him. He strolled down his phone. Ancient mystery girl. History search. He hunkered down. Since he was tired of standing.

Before entering the school, I heard a few things about this mysterious place situated on the mountainous side of Mystic Heights, a city in the heart of London. Mystic Academy, as it was known, was a mixed school primarily for kids with some uniqueness from wealthy homes. The requirements to get in seemed unattainable for mere humans, as I learned. It had a reputation as a school for "freaks," and the general belief was that only freaks would gain admission. That label didn't bother me much, considering I'd been called a freak all my life by my stepmother and her children—even their friends. My stepmother often locked me up in the cellar, praying for God to unpossess me, as she believed I was

He really wasn’t worried. “Won’t you say anything?”. She asked. “I have nothing to say". He said. "I guess I’ll have to say goodbye sooner than I expected.” “What do you mean?”. She looked confused. Tristan sent her a lopsided grin. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out Abby.” Abigail shook her head at his cryptic answer. He was supposed to be nicknamed Mysterio instead of Whitey.

with one look someone could tell too much sugar was added on top that it got burned. Su Lan turned to Mango and asked. Su Lan: "What is this?" Mango: "Pastries bought from the most famous Dark Pastries store." Su Lan: "... what is the pastry store name again?" Mango: "Dark Pastries, the most famous pastry store in his country. Not only that, it has chain stores all across the world (moral realm)." Su Lan: "... is there only this type of pastry?" Mango: "Yes, only this store has pastry. Master had some people line up for hours every day so Little Miss could have pastries."

Two weeks back, I found myself knee-deep in a mission to dismantle the nefarious web spun by those purveyors of fabricated scandals. My solitary endeavor was almost in full swing when, out of the blue, an unexpected message dropped into my digital realm. The sender bore the mysterious alias "Zero-One," which was as intriguing as a riddle whispered in the wind. "Who you are, I know," Zero-One's message began, each word dripping with enigma, concealing his true self beneath layers of anonymity. "Stop what you're doing."

“And? Was I him?” I shook my head. “No. You’re not.” He chuckled softly. “That’s a relief. Wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s fantasy tonight.” “Who says you’re in it?” “Who says I’m not?” His tone carried that teasing edge that instantly pulled a laugh from me. Damn it. “So what do I call you, mysterious girl?” he asked, leaning slightly closer. “I’m not giving my name to a stranger in a mask.” “Fair enough. Let’s do this then. I’m M.”