Romans & histoires Nacht Black Clover

The night of Riven’s funeral came too quickly. The pack gathered in silence, a sea of bowed heads and flickering torches. The council had ordered mourning cloaks, black as midnight, but even without them, the grief hung thick enough to choke. The air itself seemed to mourn, heavy and still, as though the forest knew it was about to lose a piece of its heart.

​"Leo..." ​The surrounding noise of the night seemed to fade into absolute silence. The muffled, heavy thud of the club music behind the metal doors, the groans of the four men bleeding out on the wet pavement, the quiet drip of rain falling off the brick walls—it all died away. The entire world shrank down to just the two of them standing under the flickering yellow streetlight. ​They simply stared at each other for a full, agonizing minute. Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to breathe.

It's cloaked in darkness, but a mystical kind of darkness that lets me see the mountains after mountains capped in pristine white snow that glistened brilliantly under an oversized moon. What I notice most about this night, is it's hardly mortal. The darkness is a mixture of purple and royal blue, misting together with obsidian black to portray an exquisite canvas of colour. The stars that freckled the sky winked and glittered, adding to the splendour that I look up at. "Thanks for grabbing my chest, of all places," I say tartly, turning my gaze from the lights on the horizon, obviously making up either a small city or a large town.

*** The night draped the woods in an eerie silence, broken only by the hushed whispers of the wind and the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the foliage. The sounds of crickets could be heard in the woods. A lone figure, shrouded in a dark cloak, made her way stealthily through the muddy path, her footsteps muffled by the thick layer of wet leaves. Soon, the figure, clad in a black cloak approached another figure who was clad in a long red cloak, both their faces were properly covered, except for their eyes. "Jasina," The woman in black greeted as she hugged the woman in red, "It's always so good to see you."

The scent of his cologne still hung in the air, sickeningly sweet, making me want to scream. I wanted to scrub my skin raw, erase every trace of him. But more than anything, I wanted revenge. I barely had time to catch my breath, still shaking, when my phone started ringing. An unknown number. I stared at the screen, my heart still pounding from everything that had just happened. The last thing I wanted was another conversation with anyone. So I let it ring. Once. Twice. Then silence. A moment later, a message popped up. “Ava, how dare you ignore Adrian Blackwell’s calls? Did you like your gift?”

The Night of the Gala The night of the Blackwood Gala arrived sooner than expected. Claire stood in front of the full-length mirror in Adrian’s penthouse, her breath hitching as she took in the image before her. A black silk gown hugged her curves, the plunging neckline and open back making it clear—she was not the same woman who had been cast aside three years ago. She was stronger now. Sharper. More dangerous. A voice from behind made her pulse spike. “You look lethal.” Claire turned, meeting Adrian’s gaze. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a tailored black tux, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The waxing crescent moon hangs heavy in the night sky, its silvery light cascading a shy light over Clovis City like a spectral shroud. Beneath its pale glow, the city is a hive of shadowed intrigue and simmering tension. The night sky hangs in stillness, draped in a velvet blackness that swallows the horizon whole. The new moon hides in plain sight, its presence felt more in absence, an ineffable darkness casting an ethereal hush over the world. It’s a night for shadows to skulk across the city, for the stars to form a mellifluous choir, quietly harmonizing above the strewn whispers of leaves below. The air smells of fresh smell of rain that recently subsided, that damp scent of rain-soaked

the maid grumbled. Her voice was soothing, and the girl quickly gathered her thoughts. For an hour they walked on the heath, admiring the tiny lilac and crimson flowers, collected medicinal berries and made a couple of wreaths, which Agnes intended to take to the Black Cliff and hang on the doors (the aroma of herbs disposed to a quiet sleep). Nocté pulled off her cape, straightened her hair and closed her eyes, feeling the sun's rays illuminating her face, warming her skin. She turned to the maid sitting over the berry bush and waved her good hand. The left one rose weakly and immediately fell.

I woke at six o’clock as usual to my alarm going off; I silenced it and tried, unsuccessfully, to move away from Liam. I had my head on his chest and my leg draped over his crotch, which as usual, was already full of the ‘morning glory’ that happened to all boys. He had his hand on my knee, pinning my leg there, and his other arm wrapped tightly around my waist. As I tried to move, he tightened his hold, mumbling something in his sleep about not wanting to go to college anymore.

The Black Keep’s outer walls rose like jagged teeth against the night sky, swallowing the stars. Nyx pressed herself against the cold stone, her breath steady despite the miles she’d run. The cloaking spell wrapped around her like a second skin, rendering her invisible to the guards who patrolled above. She could hear them, boots scraping against stone, the rustle of armor, muttered complaints about the cold. They passed directly overhead, oblivious to the shadow that clung to the wall below them.