One Hundred Years Of Solitude Novels & Stories

"Hop in, Mr. Crowe! If we leave now, you'll still make it to the airport in time." Very soon, I left the base behind in their car. As I looked at the place where I had spent the last five years, I realized there was not even the slightest trace of attachment left in my heart anymore. The wind outside the window still blew relentlessly across the desert. But somehow, against my face, it no longer felt so cold. Leaning back against the seat, I watched the lights of the base grow farther and farther away in the rearview mirror. The corners of my lips slowly curled upward.

“Alisa, this doesn’t change anything. You’re still free to be my mate. My partner. My wife one day. They can threaten every wolf in the city; I’ll still claim you the moment those papers are signed.” I stepped closer, letting my body brush his. The bond hummed, warm and insistent. “I know. But I don’t want you hurt because of me.” “You’re not the reason they’re coming.” His hand cupped my jaw, thumb stroking my lower lip. “You’re the reason I stopped running. The reason I built this firm to stand for justice instead of vengeance. They can come. I’ve waited thirty-four years for you. Nothing will take you from me.”

Tears fell hot with betrayal, splattering the cold stone. I’d witnessed this betrayal once before. Yet hearing it again, the raw hunger in his voice, the calculated cadence of her cries—my still felt shattered. Dull. Agonizing. The first year after my Embrace, he held me and whispered: “Every anniversary, I’ll clear my calendar. Only you.” A single text from Celia, and he abandoned every vow. He scrambled to this place like a starving man. Just how deep does his addiction to her run?

But my legs felt as if they were filled with lead. I don't even know how I made it home. I drifted into my art studio like a ghost and locked the door. Darkness swallowed everything. A tidal wave of betrayal and confusion washed over me. The chill of the studio floor seeped into my bones. I lay on the cold tiles, staring up at the ceiling, at a dense constellation of bullet holes. Souvenirs from two years ago, when the Moretti family paid us a "visit." Soren had held me as we hid in this very room, the sound of gunfire lasting the entire night.

For three years, on every full moon, he has kept his vigil there. A penitent watchman in the night, guarding us against any possible danger. "He's been there all night," Leo says. His voice is calm, almost indifferent. "It's starting to snow. Aren't you going to let him in for a cup of hot tea?" I follow his gaze. Snowflakes are falling, blanketing the back of the lone wolf. He looks cold. Lonely. Pathetic. But I just tighten the cloak around my shoulders. "There's no need, Leo."

The singer was way off-key, but everyone looked genuinely delighted. For people this lonely, hearing any singing itself was beautiful. It didn't matter whether it was good or not. Rosalyn stood silently by the door without going in. Watching their smiling faces that still couldn't hide their loneliness, she suddenly recalled a line from One Hundred Years of Solitude: 'In the end, all you're left with is your lonely self.' Looking at these elderly folks proved the quote right. Everyone would end up the same, so what was the point of fighting over love and scrambling for money? Did any of it matter in the end?

"Louisa." The man standing before her breathed out. Louisa couldn't move. After fifteen solid years, she was meeting the love of her life all over. Granted, she knew she'd definitely meet him again after a while, but then after ten years she had started to relax, resigning herself to the fact that she'd probably never see him again. After all, he had come into her life and made a sad period of time a very happy one, not forgetting the gift of life he had left her with-Her only love, Isabel. She had assumed that he was just one of those people, the type who came into your life for a while but were not meant to stay and she had learnt to accept that.

In fact, she looked exactly like I did. "Identify yourself immediately!" "I am Sazia, an initial La Chandral at birth, given to Xavier of El Altunia to take care of when my parents died." "So you are one of us? Then why did you come here?" "I choose to be melted to a human!" Everyone was shocked, no one expected it at all, not even Manzoni

Something waiting. --- Determined not to be paralyzed by fear, I returned to the antique bookstore — to the stories, the secrets, the fragments of forgotten women. The elderly owner greeted me with a knowing smile. “You’re searching for answers,” he said quietly. I nodded. He handed me a leather-bound tome, its cover worn but strong — *Reflections of the Forgotten*. “Read carefully,” he advised. “Sometimes the past speaks through shadows.” --- I spent the night poring over its pages. The book told of women trapped in illusions, caught between worlds — ghosts of themselves, struggling to reclaim their true identities.

I clutched my chest, gasping for breath as tears blurred my vision. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug deep into my palms, using the pain to keep myself upright. “Wandi spent a year overseas, recuperating, before she was willing to forgive Neve. In a couple of days, I’ll stage a medical ‘miracle’, stand up again, and let her resume being the Donna. This year is a penance for her willfulness.” Each word of his was uttered coolly, piercing deeper into my heart. “But… it has been a year. Will she buy it?” someone asked hesitantly.