Mystery White Marble Novels & Stories

Good thing I have my ability, I had it easy. I raised my eyes to the heavens. I remember standing on the grounds with Marcus and Laura, staring up at the sky, wishing we could one day visit the Palace. And here I am, I did get in but danger immediately greeted me. It appears as if I've always been drawn to danger. I returned my focus to the gemstone information listed on the page. These stones aren't among the twelve gemstones, yet they're be popular and well-received. "Agatha, stone with white and brown color. Alabaster, not so hard yellowish stone."

Elias whispered: “We are not alone.” A bolt jumped. Then another one. The wall next to the lock glitt. There was no other tunnel behind it. A bright room. Laboratory light. White tiles. And a man in a white coat. He was old. Grey hair. Thin. And when he saw Mara, he stopped abruptly. His eyes widened. Not before surprise. Before stirring. He slowly took off his glasses. And whispered: ‘Mara?’ Mara stared at him. A new memory pain stabbed her.

Here, it was thick with the suffocating sweetness of imported cloves, beeswax, and the sharp, resinous tang of polished oil. The transition was beautiful. The rough-hewn granite walls gave way to smooth blocks of white marble, fitted together so tightly that not even a pine needle could be driven between the joints. High above our heads, the rafters were hidden behind gold-threaded tapestries that unspooled the ancient history of the Blood Moon line: great white wolves with eyes of silver, tearing the throats from the southern kings, their woven blood dropping in neat, scarlet stitches onto a snow-white field.

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.

It felt as though the realm existed solely to absorb the pain and despair of those who sought me, offering them peace and comfort in return for my own growing emptiness. I sighed, letting my gaze wander around the room. The walls were crafted from gleaming white marble, their polished surfaces catching the faint moonlight that seeped through the tall, arched windows. The floor mirrored the same pristine marble, cool underfoot, while the ceiling rose high, its intricate patterns blending into the purity of the room. Every furnishing followed the same motif: curtains of flowing white silk, a vanity carved from pale stone, and a bed adorned with delicate white embroidery. Even the comforter tha

"You are trying to be the martyr again, sister. Just like mother. She gave her life for a sanctuary that lasted a mere decade. How long will your dome last? A minute? Ten?" "Long enough," I said. I reached for the Mother-Lode essence in my marrow. I didn't push the fire. I pushed the Roots. I remembered the Father of Roots in the Iron-Wood Valley. I remembered how it drank the darkness and turned it into gold. I channeled that memory into the white stone beneath my feet. "Breathe with the stone," Hala's voice whispered in my mind. The marble didn't shatter this time. It began to change. The white stone turned a deep, translucent red—Sanguine Marble. The red energy flowed up the Border-Spire,

he says, then when we come to a stop in front of a marble door, he barks at a soldier to open it. I look around the white room and notice that it is made out of the same material as the door. Inscriptions are etched into the stone on every surface of the room, and in the middle stood a flat black stone altar. I can see the legs of someone lying next to it but don’t know who it could be.

Without a word, she opens the photo album and holds a picture of a young woman who looks very much like me. “Why, she looks just like Mazy!” Aries exclaims. He holds the photo close, while Blaze and I look over his shoulder. “This was my mother, Amelia Winters. She was the last known white wolf in existence.” she eyes the picture. “She lived with the Pure Bloods, the Moon King Pack, before they banished her to our pack, The Sentinels.” “I thought the white wolves were half breeds?” Aries asks.

Just to hear him call me a good girl. I gasp at the sheer size of the bathroom. It is huge and pristinely clean. White marble everywhere that actually fucking glitters. Soft strategic lighting that transforms the space into something of a show. Like one of those luxury setups of what a bathroom should look like by ridiculous high-end interior designers whose target markets are people like Stephane. The one of ones.

Chapter 4: Life of the Party ~ Willow ~ “This way Willow.” Mona whispered to me as we exited out into the hall. This place is super elegant. Everything is marble. These dragons sure know how to live. Everywhere I look I see white and gold and creamy orange marble. It’s simply beautiful, this whole place is. There are huge floor to ceiling marble columns that support the tall ceilings. This place is enormous, it has to be. Dragons are massive creatures.