Mystery White Marble Novels & Stories

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.

I ignored it and pushed to my feet anyway. The bathroom was through the second door. Of course it was gorgeous. White marble, a shower big enough to host a small party, a freestanding tub, double sinks with backlit mirrors. A row of identical black bottles lined one side. I picked one up. Custom labels. CASSANDRA HUNTINGTON – Signature Scent

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,

In short, the designer had good taste. In front of him stood a white building, which looked like an ancient castle. The glazed tiles on the top were glittering in the sun, emitting multi-colored lights, which made it extremely beautiful. Chu Xun raised his hand, and then... with a boom, the delicate, hollow carved mahogany door of the white castle broke into pieces, and scattered all over the sky. Chu Xun's divine sense spread outward. A moment later, there was a rumbling sound. A stone gate rose, revealing a secret room.

“Very well, you’re straightforward. Let’s discuss our deal.” As he finished speaking, there was a clang, and a heavy object rolled towards me from the darkness. I instinctively backed away, pressing myself against the cold stone door. The object, seemingly spherical, rolled across the castle floor, making a noise like carriage wheels on stone, and finally stopped in front of me. In the faint light from outside the castle, I saw that it was a murky crystal ball. It exuded a white mist, and a thin layer of ice had formed on its surface. Through the mist and ice, countless unsightly gray-black spots floated inside the crystal ball. They marred the once-clear interior, giving it an eerie and omi

Tank even said we should add some benches and stone walkways so people can come and reminisce with the people they are missing. “It’s perfect, Birdie,” Sebastian says, his hand coming to the small of my back. My head tilts to the side as I look at the memorial. I wish it were perfect. I really do. But in the perfect world, we wouldn’t need it. I guess, given the circumstances, it serves its purpose and is pretty. A stunning white marble slab with a rounded edge sits in the center of the four grays framing it. Each cut with sharp, jagged points that look like mountain peaks. Little streaks of gray and gold flicker through the white marble, looking almost like an ethereal mist that leaches int

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.