Nocturne Novels & Stories

I didn't even bother changing my clothes. It's late already and I need to sleep, it's a big day tomorrow. I let out a loud exhale and one last laugh before shutting my eyes to sleep. I bet I'm about to have one of the most peaceful nights ever. Of course, who wouldn't sleep peacefully after completing such magnificent work? Oh hell, I'm proud of myself. *********** The morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting soft golden lines across my face. I flicked my eyes open and the sudden penetration of the sun straight into my eyes made me shut my eyes back immediately.

My name is Lila. I’m twenty-four. Marcus works the night gate. Thirty-eight. He has raised the barrier for me for months and never let it become more than a nod. Tonight I was the last one out. The ramp was empty. The lights on the upper levels were already off. He should have waved me through and locked the gate behind me. “Gate closes in five,” he said from the booth window. His voice was low. “Go. I’ll lock.”

His heart screamed that it was her, yet the chilling absence of the scar and the vacant look in her eyes made him feel like he was losing his grip on sanity. He stayed there long after the sound of Vespera’s heels faded away, the moonlight seeming to mock him, casting a glow over the empty terrace. He glanced down at his hand, the one that had brushed against her warm skin. It still trembled. The absence of the scar hit him like a physical punch. It was a mark he had traced with his own finger countless times, a small, crescent-shaped reminder of a childhood accident that Lorna had once called her “secret brand.”

In that other life, before everything went to hell, I'd sneak to the piano when I missed him, letting the notes bleed out my grief. My fingers brushed the keys, smooth and worn, and it was like he was there again. I launched into Chopin's Nocturne in E flat major. His voice ghosted in my ear: "It's a nocturne, Leila, but it's about light. Moonlight - clear and fierce. Make them feel it." The melody spilled out, sharp and haunting, filling the room.

POV: Luna Monroe Luna hadn’t dreamed in days. Not since the naming ritual, not since the Grove pulsed with her child’s rhythm. But tonight, sleep came fast—and with it, a vision. She stood in the spiral, alone, her stone dim, the flame flickering in violet and silver. The lullaby echoed around her, but it was slower now. Sadder. Each note bent inward, curling like smoke. Luna reached for the flame. It recoiled. And the wind whispered—not in comfort. In caution.

I would even have a glass of water for him to keep it down. I would wait until he'd fallen asleep before tiptoeing out to wash myself up. Sometimes, I would even stay right next to him, keeping vigil when the alcohol hit him hard. Now, the tender warmth he was used to was gone. Knocks on the door woke William up the next morning. The hangover was still gripping his head tightly, and everything around him was spinning like a demented carousel. He pulled himself up from the couch and wobbled to the entrance.

His regard was once again peaceful and soothing, and he lowered his eyes to the keys as he sang the last stanza, Restless young breeze, born from the twilight Your life nears its end in the darkness of night As I hear your last whisper, still beckoning me I bless your sweet kindness in troubling me With a final sprinkling of notes, the song slowed to its end. Solemnly, Baron Armand twirled me one final time. As I faced him again, I let go of his hand and curtsied picturesquely, my dark locks falling over my shoulders. The baron bowed low as the last echoes of the melody faded away.

DEVINA'S POV I sighed, soaking myself in the water even more as I let myself sink. My muscles were aching, and for the first time in a while, I felt relaxed. My face felt smooth, and my hair was neatly tied in a bun and my whole skin was tingling. Soft classical piano resonated around the room through the speakers situated at the four corners of the walls. The speakers were connected to my phone, and I genuinely wouldn't mind being murdered here. Sonata No. 14, “Moonlight” in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 27 No. 2: I. Adagio sostenuto.

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains of Nickey’s room, casting a golden wash across the bed as he woke to the faint chorus of birds outside. His mind lingered on the memory of Trina’s humming from the night before—a haunting melody that wrapped around him like silk, refusing to let go. Even now, the tune clung to him, threading through his thoughts like a chain he wasn’t sure he wanted to break.

“Master, I could practically smell them.” Drust smiled weakly and then motioned for him to follow. They walked to the mouth of the cavern, partially hidden by fallen oaks. “We’ll show them what they want to see, the gate to another place, and far more this night.” Drust reached out to the boy. “Give me your canteen.” The boy quickly handed his crude horn-shaped flask to his master. Drust uncapped the horn and put it close to his wrinkled lips. He spat in the end and then reached in his robe. He brought out his hand and sprinkled what appeared to be dust in the horn. He closed it and shook it.