Myth Stories Novels & Stories

Shayla resisted longer, peppering me with last-minute questions about whether clouds slept and if frogs had birthdays. Lucas waited until the others were settled before speaking quietly. “Can you tell a story?” Something in his tone—hopeful, vulnerable—unlocked a memory deep inside me. “My mother used to tell me stories,” I said softly. “Would you like one of those?” Three heads nodded eagerly. So I began. I told them about the moon that fell in love with the sea but could never touch it, about the brave girl who taught the stars how to sing, about the fox who tricked winter into leaving early.

she asked, clearly bracing for the worst. “Yes,” I said. “But later. As a treat.” Naomi groaned theatrically. “You lied,” she hissed. “We’ll start with stories,” I said. “Real ones. Some might be scary in parts. Some might be sad. But we’re telling them so you know where you come from. So no one can tell you lies and make you afraid on purpose.” I took a breath. “Who’s heard of the curse?” I asked. Almost every hand went up.

Author's Note This book is a short compilation of erotic stories. Please note that not all entries are heavily erotic—some lean more toward emotional moments, dramatic tension, or character interaction. Also, 99% of these stories don’t follow a traditional plot, so don’t be confused if there's no clear beginning, middle, or end. They’re written more for mood, moments, and expression than full narratives. Enjoy the ride,no overthinking needed. 😉 ********************************************* Kael didn’t wait.

For that… could kill them. The little orphans of the slums bundled together, a hand for each ear. They remembered the old myth and deemed it the cause. It was one of the oral folktales of Antacast, passed from one generation to another. The demigods of lightning and thunder fighting again for the wind goddess’ favor, as the old tales had told.

Unfortunately this is an attitude that comes very late in the history of human development, and even then only to a small minority. Not only individuals but whole cultures feel a compulsion to offer answers when they don’t have any relevant facts. These stories, which are made up to cover gaps in our knowledge, are called myths. Probably the most all-pervasive myths are what are called creation myths, because (even today) nobody can really explain how the universe began, why there should be something rather than nothing, and yet it seems such a fundamental question that surely we must have SOME story to tell about it. The Bantu of Central Africa tell how in the beginning there was only darkn

“You must be extremely careful. You never know what kind of magic may be inside, and what gods we’ll upset if any pages are torn.” He’d said it in jest, of course. At least I thought so at the time. But he’d been right to be careful with the massive text. Inside were stories of a land lost to time, each page illustrated with great care and skill. Myths and legends of the old gods and goddesses and their trials, stories of their people, their subjects, their heroes and enemies. And their beasts.

And Kilano replied 'my love, it would be an honor to have you by my side'. I close my eyes, letting the flames die as I hug my knees to my chest. "Do you think it's true?" "What?" I ask, my voice muffled by my arm. "The stories of the gods, do you think they're true?" "Yes," I reply. "Really?" I shrug a little to myself. "Kilano's daughter would have been my great great grandmother so the stories may have been changed a little but it would be difficult to create a completely new myth with so few of generations," I sigh.

’ He said simply and like all good faery tales they all live happily ever after. The End.

The stories she had shared with Theo melded with the narratives of the dream realm, creating a kaleidoscope of tales that danced before her in a mesmerizing display. As she wandered through this fantastical land, Mama Hazel encountered creatures of myth and magic, each one a guardian of stories untold, a keeper of secrets waiting to be revealed. The characters she met whispered of forgotten tales, of hidden truths, and of the transformative power of storytelling that bound their fates together in an intricate dance of destiny.

Was she getting worked up? “It used to be,” Lilith continued, her voice taking on a harsher edge. “The gods walked among us. They would sit with us around the fire and tell us stories. Some were real. Some weren’t. As the gods stopped coming around, the oldest humans took over reciting the stories. We humans loved our stories. Over the ages, we realized the power in them. People changed their behavior to act like the heroes in the stories. Some the villains. Some tellers tried changing the stories or telling new ones, and the listeners changed their behavior to match. The tellers learned how easy it was to control the people simply by telling a story. While I was away, the men started tellin