Mythomania Book Novels & Stories

“I know it sounds batshit insane. Like the caller’s hallucinating or screwing with me. But he knew things—details no one should. And if there’s even a chance…” Lysander held up a hand, stopping me. “It doesn’t sound insane. Not entirely.” I blinked, caught off guard. “What?” He pushed off the table, walking to a bookshelf in the corner crammed with art books, sketchpads, and a few dusty tomes that looked older than the school. He pulled one out—a thick, leather-bound volume with faded gold lettering: “Mythos and Metaphor: Ancient Lore in Modern Art.” He flipped through it, landing on a page with illustrations of snarling wolves under full moons, runes etched around the borders.

He grunted, laughing at her naivety: “Of course not! Am I reading so trivial? What are these myths? Vampires, their nature is not what this book talks about, they do not feed on humans, they are not savages, and they are not criminals, and they certainly do not transform a person as soon as he dies with the blood of a vampire in his body, so he returns to life transformed. He laughed a sarcastic laugh that he could not hide from her, and she frowned, holding the book to her chest, as if to comfort him and prevent him from the abuse that Isaiah threw at him, calling him narrowly: “I am not stupid to believe these myths, that is why the writer called her a fairy tale. It has nothing to do with

Tasha is about to open her mouth to contradict him when he says, “Tasha, listen to me. Carl wants the book for the ritual but did you find anything about the incarnation ritual in it?” “No. That’s why I am confused.” “Of course. It’s because it’s a myth.” “Vampires are also a myth according to common people,” she says reasonably, “how do you know it’s not true?” “Because I started that myth,” he says simply. “You started it? I don’t understand. Why? How?”

- I responded back, burying my thoughts deep. My face flushed realizing that he had been able to pick up these X-Rated thoughts so easily since I had been so deep into it. The book hadn't helped at all to keep my mind on my task for the day. It had been the equivalent of "See Spot Run" in the Draygonian world. Nerrian rolled his eyes and closed the book. He set it off to the side on a pile of books that never quite made it back to his shelves. I don't think this will work today. Nerrian admitted shaking his head.

I ask the group as we all grab a coffee and head over to the brainstorming section that Gabriel had set up for us, I must say I quite like it. "Well, that is easy, I know someone who owes me a favor and they will have a press conference about how ludicrous this entire ordeal is, we can blame it on wolves and cults. As in actual wolves, not the ones who turn into humans and cults as in human extremists. Is everyone happy with that?" everyone nods in agreement and picks up the books. I happened to pick up the book of Enoch. As in the book that was removed from the bible, I look up at Gabriel and wave the book very subtly and he nods his head, confirming my suspicion with a cute smirk at the en

I still have a little control over my own body despite my overexcited cock. Mari's assumption of my reason as to why I told her this made me realize one thing. Although she is used to good and beautiful things, she isn't used to having them without a cause. Every good thing I did, she asked me what I wanted in exchange. There really wasn't but Mari grew up manipulated by her own father. Doing things in exchange for something. I didn't roll that way. Which is why I'm going to spoil her. She's going to have no other choice but to embrace good things without cause.

After what seemed like ages, it got to his turn. Without turning to look at him, the man began talking like a programmed robot. “Name?” “Harold. Harold Girard.” The man looked up at him instantly, straight into his eyes but the next second he was staring at a blank form. He filled in Harold's name. “Kind?” “Huh?” Harold asked. The man looked up at him again. “I mean specie. What's your specie?” “Oh,” Harold replied with a faked smile. “Werewolf.”

"Why is it expensive?" "No, it was in high demand." Alkhun looks at the book. It was almost like his first copy of it. Red cover, with the name of it. Written in bold letters. Alkhun was fascinated by the book ever since he first read it. It was the myth of the west. The myth about a tower, once hidden deep in the west. Where it is located, the structure, the system, the connection between worlds. Everything was written in detail. It was suffocating how fascinating whats that book has to offer. Like a gateway through the other dimension, that gives you goosebumps.

"Be careful who you trust, I know there are many people you may have been crushing on, but you can't just let anyone in who says nice things to you." "So, don't let history repeat itself, don't be a dipshit?" "Don't let history repeat itself, and listen to your heart, no matter how cliche that sounds." "It does sound pretty cliche," I said through a chuckle as I picked the last book out of the box I was working on, "You remember this book, Ma?" "I do, I bought you that book a month before I got you away from your father," She said as she took the book from me, "You always had a knack for Greek Mythology."

He held it up for a moment, examining it in the light before casually flicking it onto the concrete floor, where it landed with a tiny, insignificant tink. "One," Zandrei counted softly, his eyes glinting with a mad, ecstatic light. "Now, let's try again. Who sent you?" He asked, his voice brimming with a childlike excitement, like a madman who had just discovered a wonderfully fun new game and was eager for another turn. The man in the chair could only manage a strangled, guttural sound, a wet sobbing noise that vibrated through his shattered mouth. His head thrashed from side to side, his eyes wide with a horror so pure it was almost beautiful to Zandrei.