Oblitus Casa Mother Novelas e Histórias

"You are summoned to Voss House. Your mother’s debt is due. You will repay it. Wear black. Midnight." No signature. No number. No threats. But it didn’t need any. Everyone in the city knew what Voss House meant. And Damien Voss—he didn’t need to threaten. He was the kind of man who could break someone with silence. Calla swallowed, the air thick and metallic. Her mother had vanished four years ago with a trail of addiction and lies. She’d left behind a stack of unpaid bills, a locked drawer Calla never dared open, and a warning whispered by a man who’d come to their door once:

/ "Ah, right. But I was talking about Cedrick Romanov’s house, not that broke loser Zen Obedon’s house. Don’t tell me you don’t know where your lover lives?" / "Why would I?" Lavínia shot back, irritated. / "Oh... you’re in for a surprise. Why don’t you let me take you there?" / "Do you think I’m crazy?" Lavínia retorted firmly. / "Lavínia, I’ve told you before, I don’t mean you any harm. I know how many breakdowns you’ve had since your mother disappeared. I know how much you’ve been spending trying to find her, but this way, you’ll get nowhere. I will take you to where your mother is."

I clenched my fists, my teeth grinding together. “What do you know, Clara? Stay out of this.” “Oh, Agnes,” she continued, her voice dripping with condescension, “Luna Olivia is Thea’s real mother. Just like I’m your father’s fated mate. You can’t fight fate. No one can. And you? You’ll end up exactly like your mother—rejected, broken, and forgotten.” The mention of my mother made my blood boil. She had been fragile and kind, her heart shattered by my father’s betrayal. Clara had no right to even bring her up.

“She was a nuisance to me in life; she won’t be a nuisance to me in death as well.” “What your mother means,” Father interjects, “is that, while it is a great sadness to us, there was always something off about Blanca. After all, she met her fate while trying to find a kingdom that is long gone. She was mentally unwell. Thank the Goddess she can now be at peace, and so can we.” “Yes,” Mother nods enthusiastically. “We can be at peace and not speak of this nasty incident again.” She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to get up and acquiesce to her demand that I bathe. Perhaps it’s petty of me, but I settle into the chair further, pretending to be contemplative.

"Damn. Beside we are nothing talking about him marrying you. We need him to take responsibility" I keep calm. "You see too much movies. But don't worry, his mother is different" I look at her. "How can you tell?" I ask. Sighing, she face the laptop and began pressing again. I roll my eyes but decided to keep calm and listen. "I have gone through all of these write ups about the Martins family. His mother is Elma Martins. Guess her background" I furrow my brows at her. "Come on guess" "Beth you know I suck at guessing"

Lucas went to Domus Malum and searched for his clients’ application. He knew his Father will come at the weak ones, just like what he did to Mrs. Hathaway, but he was also torn thinking that his Father might come at those evil-spirited and use them against him or to other people.

Camila's life had not been very good, at her young age she had had to deal with many problems, money was always part of those problems, and now and for some months her mother's illness was driving her to the brink of madness. Mer, Camila's mother, was an orange-scented omega who is little by little was fading her light because of senile dementia. Needing a lot of care, very expensive care, the young omega did not know what to do at that moment. She felt at a dead end.

Casandra said, gently holding the elderly woman’s shoulders. Mrs. Sarah clasped Casandra’s hand tightly, her cold fingers trembling. “Casandra… you came, my dear. I thought… I thought you would never want to set foot in this cursed house again after what that bastard did to you.” Casandra sat on the small stool beside the rocking chair. “This house is not at fault, Mother. Our memories here are too precious to be erased because of one person’s mistakes.”

“My mother told me once.” “For what?” “Traitors. Prisoners. Anyone the rebellion couldn’t kill outright. They buried them here. Alive, sometimes.” Jesus. “And now it’s their base?” Isabella didn’t answer. Just stared at the stones like they owed her something. Like she was trying to remember the names carved into their silence. --- Isabella — POV The house I remembered was still standing. Barely. A narrow two-story cabin at the far edge of the village, wrapped in ivy and grief. My mother had stayed here once—before the last battle. Before she marched north and never came back.