Oscar Wilde Final Words Mga Nobela at Kwento

she said Cathelina Bright. "I'm sorry," Cathelina Bright said, covering her mouth with her palm. "I've seen this movie too many times and I'm constantly moved by it, so I couldn't help but say too much." She turned to Wills Waltson after she finished speaking and said: "Wills, you remain the finest. How can you be so coy about the finale of a movie that you already know?" Isn't this not the movie they'd seen together? She grew even more depressed as she reflected on this.

“I’ll be damned if I ever let Walden see this letter! DAMNED!!!” Finally finding what she was looking for, she smirked as she held out the paper in the flames of the lighter she’d turned on, watching as the white paper gradually turned to ashes dropping on the ground, until there was nothing left of it. “Sorry dear princess, but I’m afraid dear Walden won’t be coming to rescue you…” **********

His old hunting rifle still smoked. He looked directly at Richard. "You've destroyed enough lives." Richard staggered backward toward the broken lighthouse window. He smiled weakly. "You may stop me..." "...but Edward Carter is already waiting." With those final words, the weakened floor beneath him gave way. Richard lost his balance. He reached for the edge— But found nothing. He disappeared through the shattered window, falling toward the crashing waves below. Emma stood frozen. The room became silent except for the sound of the ocean. Then she turned toward the woman Oliver had just freed.

It was a small comfort in my final moments, a beacon of light in the encroaching void. "I love you, Jaselyn," I whispered one last time, the words a final prayer. Finally, everything went black, and I was lost to the darkness, my heart breaking with all the words left unsaid.

His voice turned to ice. “He’s already dead. He just hasn’t stopped breathing yet.” That night I dreamed of two men standing over a crib. One with Czar’s eyes. One with Nathaniel’s smile. And a baby who looked at both and called them both “Daddy.” I woke screaming. Czar was already gone. On the pillow: a note in his handwriting. Gone to end this. Stay inside. I love you more than vengeance. Remember that. I ran to the window. The yacht was gone.

He finally looked at me, confusion replacing the sadness in his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked slowly. I took a deep breath. "The dying wish, Owen." "I had a rare illness and it was my final wish to be with you... it was a lie." I watched the realization hit him. The confusion drained away, leaving emptiness in his eyes. "What?" he whispered. "I'm not dying, Owen! I never was! I had a perfectly clean bill of health! I just wanted you! And it worked!" I replied, my voice thick with regret.

He didn't realize he was cradling the very fuse that would ignite his funeral pyre. I took a final sip of the scotch, the burn a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. “Checkmate, Vincenzo,” I murmured to the empty room. “You just don't know it yet.”

“You’ll understand soon enough. When the light starts to fade, and the darkness starts to feel like home.” “I’ll never be you.” He smiled—sadly this time, as if he’d heard those exact words before. “That’s what I said too.” A gust of cold air swept through the room, and the Wicked began to dissolve into smoke once again, his last words curling through the air like a curse. “See you soon… me.”

FIVE DAYS EARLIER “ I stand on the last bridge of my life. Who knew Brooklyn Bridge, a bridge I always crossed through would be the bridge I fall from? I breathe in my last breath, so refreshing… The breeze blows my ebony hair and with one last step, l'll… “ “ Krystal!”

Proof. The fina‌l item was a single,⁠ torn sheet of lined pa‌per, tucked in the⁠ back of th⁠e journal. The writing here‍ was different‌. Stil⁠l his hand, but the letter‌s were quicker, less controlled. It was d⁠ated the‌ day before his stroke.‍ Told Chloe to trust no one from that account. The past is not d⁠one. I star‌ed at those eight⁠ words. The past is not done. He w⁠as writing about his o⁠w⁠n death. He knew it‍ was coming. And his last thou‌ght was to‌ p⁠rotect his granddaughter.