Novelas y relatos de Myth Stories

"Personally, I like the idea that hope helps us meet the challenges of life, particularly the ills of this world. Regardless, this is the Greek way of explaining why dreadful things happen." "Seems pretty misogynistic to me. Why do the women always get the shaft in these myths?" Dr. Frankler's laughter pealed like bells, making my lips twitch up. "I have to agree with you. Like I said before, women aren't the ones who wrote these stories." "Yeah. Stupid men did. I'd like to hear some myths or fairy tales that a woman wrote."

Lucian catches a falling star and hurls it back into the sky as a new constellation. Kayo convinces the moon god that stealing the moon is actually his idea. Rowan quotes a footnote so obscure Death forgets why it came. We keep crossing, keep rewriting, keep breaking every legend that was written before we were born. At 00:03 left on the timer, all six stories collapse into one. We stand in the center of the Crucible Ring again, surrounded by the smoking remains of six dead myths. The pedestals are gone. Thunderstrike takes a slow sip of coffee.

She said as she stood up and I sat down to listen to what she had to say. "You see, when I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me a story about a myth, moreso a prophesy that I believed was just a way to have us cling on to some hope of a supernatural being living among us. I also thought that it was their way of just keeping us curious. It was called the myth of the silver wolf." 'Silver wolf?' I asked myself internally. Looking at Lucas and Susan, they both had the same confused look on their faces.

She finally blinked, turning away from me to grab the broom from the corner of the kitchen without making eye contact. “It's a myth,” she muttered, her back still turned. “A myth,” I repeated, not buying it for a second. “An old one.” She swept the broken glass into a neat pile, her movements tight and forced. “The elders used to tell it to the pups to keep them from wandering out into the woods at night. A scary name, a scary story. That's all it is.” “So I just happened to have a horrific nightmare about a bedtime story I've never even heard before?”

She was fascinated by the way that different cultures had woven tales of love into the night sky. "And then there's the story of Orion and Scorpio," Eddie said, pointing to two constellations on opposite sides of the sky. "According to Greek mythology, Orion was a great hunter who boasted that he could kill any animal on earth. This angered the goddess Gaia, who sent a giant scorpion to kill him."

Those stories of wars were just myths to them, unless someone brought you in, like Cassandra. Just when I’m ready to give up, I find a story from around twenty years ago about a teenager saving a woman from a monstrous beast.

"And then I watched you come out of that circle and I understood, finally, that we never wrote any of it down. Do you know why? Because the people who saw it didn't survive to write it. What we've got is the story told by the ones who ran." She turned her head. "You're the first of your kind anyone's laid eyes on in four hundred years, Maya Cole. And every wolf on this earth has spent that whole time being told a bedtime story about you." "What's the story?" "Depends who's telling it. In mine, you eat the moon." Odette shrugged one bony shoulder. "Which is a thing you say to a child who won't sleep. It isn't history. It's what's left when the history runs." A thin smile. "Congratulations. Yo

Other stories were mere myths that were intended to scare children or dissuade them from doing a particular thing. The stories told, usually differed from one village to another, as did their gods, but a few were generally held and respected by all. One myth in Umuoku that was known only to the members of the village was a story about using a broom to sweep. If a child or an adult mistakenly uses the sharp edges of a broom to pierce someone, it was believed that the victim who was in contact with the edges of the broom was at risk, and may suffer a terrible disease unless the person who caused his or her predicament, raises the broom high and pierced its edges towards the earth to cleanse th

“That may be so; my mother always told stories about the outside world. Everyone called her crazy, but now I realize that her stories were real, most of them, and I think The Gold Star might be real. Do you know how to get there?” Silence reigned again in the dining room. “The Golden Star is a myth, a hidden city that reveals your greatest dreams, born of impossible love between a princess and a mercenary. The story goes that they loved each other so much that when their families objected, they ran north by sea until they found a refuge in the forest where no one would dare to look because of the tricky road. They were able to raise a family and spent the rest of their lives building their o

In the evenings, around the hearths of home, mothers regale their children with stories of how the world was before the arrival of mankind. Tales of when there was only one Fae Court, when the sky was full of dragons, and when brethren lived free of fear. Stories of the merfolk walking unafraid on the land, a vast network of Fae and elvish cities on every continent of the world, and sirens in every coastal village.