Mythical Stories Novels & Stories

She asked. “Um, it can be any myth, right? Anything?” I asked her to make sure. “Any myth can work but it should be mainly from Romans or Greeks” She cleared that for me. “Got it…” I said and leaned back smiling because I already had something in my mind.

Next, he told of the felines Minatious and Micya who took the form of tigers, though their children could take any large cat breed. Cullen frowned as he thought of the old legend. He couldn't recall who the rats or the bulls were. He would have to call Colin, who knew the myth better. Finally, he talked of the Phoenix. There had only ever been one pair who lived and died, only to be reborn. Mattieus and Annos were said to be the first. By the time he talked of the Moon Goddess and how the wolves devoted their allegiance to her in the original war with the humans, Jackson had opened his eyes.

Seeing that she would not give up from siding the night roamer, he decides to tell her a story to compliment her belief. “You know, according to our popular children stories, some believe he is a handsome prince from a far away kingdom made of gold, and enchantment and magic. While others believes he is a demon that haunts evildoers and people of little conscience until they give up their evil ways, or pay for their sins with blood” He narrates, captivating her attention. “Tell me more please?” She pleads with irresistible eyes. “You are in luck, as I am a lover of myth!” he gestures towards a dry piece of log just opposite them.

It must have been hard for him to take a backseat for me. Rhys nodded his assent and Liz sighed heavily. "The Accords existed long before the Fall. In the days of magic and tales. Some women, and occasionally men, would find themselves in situations that mirrored old stories that came from the Supernatural world. Cinders Ella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, the Brave Little Tailor." She glanced at Robbie. There was seriously something between them. "All stories collected by the Grimm's, written down, assessed." Robbie continued for her. "All of these tales repeat themselves, continuously. In a loop. Until we are all living some variation. Either the happy ones, or the sinister."

As Sophia stood before the captivating painting of Apollo and Daphne, the gallery attendant began to unravel the tale depicted within the artwork. "Well, you see, this painting depicts the mythological story of Apollo and Daphne," the attendant began, her voice soft and melodic. "According to Greek mythology, Apollo, the god of music, poetry, and prophecy, became infatuated with the beautiful nymph Daphne. However, Daphne, fearing Apollo's advances, prayed to the river god Peneus for help. In response to her prayers, Peneus transformed Daphne into a laurel tree to save her from Apollo's pursuit." As the attendant spoke, Sophia found herself drawn deeper into the story, her imagination weavin

He gave me a soft smile, making me return a shy smile. “You know, in Greek mythology, Althaia was the Queen of Calydon, and a woman of fierce passion. She is celebrated in an ancient story about the fate of her son, Meleager. When he was born, the Moirai, or the Fates in English, came to foretell his future, and they predicted he would die as soon as one of the sticks in the fireplace burned out completely. When Althaia heard that, she pulled the stick from the fire, put the fire out, and hid it in a safe place.”

And right now, she's reading Michael's birthday present to her: Greek Myth and Legend. Feet up, stretched out on the settee in front of the fire, she couldn't look happier.... Well, maybe there's one way.... I nudge up her feet to sit beside her. "Which story are you reading?" "The one about how Heracles wrestled with Achelous and broke off his horn and created the cornucopia.... The horn of plenty." She dimples happily and there's a merry little twinkle in her eye. Is that some kind of hint?

♱ •⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅• ♱ •⋅ Elaine ⋅• ♱ Old tales, there were so many and last week all I did was read them. The mortal tales were silly in a way - like a helpless princess, who was trapped in a tower by an evil witch, another who had been poisoned, and finally the one who was cursed to sleep soundly. All the stories ended the same way: the princesses were saved by their enchanted princes, but although they were supposed to be "cute" I could only get angry.

he said, lifting it by one corner and showing the cover to me, “is filled with the stories of our people. Every werewolf family has a copy, and all werewolf children grow up hearing the tales.” “So… they’re fairy tales like Cinderella? Or myths like Pandora’s Box?” I asked, taking the book and examining it. It was an old book with a dark green cover, embossed with gold scrolling around the edges and on the binding, with the title “The Goddess’s Tales” right in the center. Despite its age, it was still in wonderful condition, with hardly any deterioration.

“I know that too.” “It’s not something you can ignore.” Her patience snapped slightly. “Kael.” Her voice was sharper now. More dangerous. “Stop telling me things I already know.” A beat passed. Then another. And finally… He spoke. “There are stories,” he said. Arin stilled. “What kind of stories?” “Old ones,” he replied. “Older than the kingdoms that exist now. Older than the wars we fight.” Her pulse quickened. “That doesn’t explain anything.”