Novelas y relatos de Painters Of The Night

He pulls me up with ease. “To the basement.” I hold out my hand to conjure another energy ball, wanting to be ready and needing the light to see. Lucas walks behind me, on the lookout for any more of those creatures. We go through the dining area and into the main hall again. “The smell of human blood is getting stronger,” Lucas tells me. “Fresh blood?” “No.” I splay my fingers, and the blue light brightens above me, illuminated crude graffiti drawn on the walls. Binx shadows out of the dark, red eyes glowing.

he whispered, locking eyes with me. At that moment, his gaze fueled my resolve. I wasn’t just a nameless nanny or a nobody. I was Damian’s dear childhood friend, the daughter of the man known as the god of designs. "Blue Harrison," I reminded myself, and I knew I had to put on my mask and act like it. The hall was alive, a cacophony of laughter and the soft hum of music that swirled around me like a thick fog. As I stepped inside, the buzz of conversation washed over me, enveloping me in an atmosphere of success and ambition. Business associates of Damian flitted about, their smiles painted on like masks while their eyes glinted with opportunism.

Damien’s P.O.V. The night was finally here, October 30, Devil’s night. It was also Synestra’s 18th birthday. I desperately wanted to spend the day with her, but it had become somewhat of a tradition for the band to host a concert and party in Detroit on this night. Detroit was the city that made the day what it had become, and fans travelled from all over the world to be there for this one night. It was a night of wickedness and perversion, mischief, and mayhem. It was the night I was born for the night I waited all year for. We called it the Hallowicked Masquerade, everyone came in costumes and masks. We found humans feel much more comfortable engaging in evil doings when others could not s

The artist didn’t notice the tears that were on the edge of Sofia's eyes that were now in the painting. Gregorio approached another painting, where Miguel's face was. He stared at it intently. "What a nice masterpiece!" Gregorio left the room. Where the room witnessed what happened to the two teenagers. He went to his bedroom while carrying the two paintings. The artist approached the large black cabinet, where he kept the paintings of his victims. He opened the cabinet, flicked the switch and when the inside of the cabinet lit up, layers of paintings could be seen, placed under the feet of a small statue of Satan.

Axel replied, referring to the card in his hand. The man walked ahead of Axel and he followed, they passed different steps and met different men on their way. They finally got to a room and five men were seated around a table with different alcohols, games, and other different things on the table. They were having coffee too. “Black one with sugar please.” He said to none of them in particular. They all stared at with glares on their faces. Axel looked at their hands and he saw the tattoos. Just like the one Lily yelled out, a sun and a moon right under each other.

The moon cast a silver glow over the Reynolds' house as the family settled in for the night. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Selene's father, Henry, paced the living room, his thoughts troubled by the recent events. Elizabeth, her mother, tried to keep a brave face, but the worry lines etched into her features betrayed her inner turmoil.

Its walls were adorned with paintings of various sizes, depicting ancient battles, portraits, moon rituals, abstract beauty, natural scenery and mysterious forest landscapes. At the centre of the room stood a large, recently installed canvas. It became Lennon’s focus the moment he entered. He stepped forward and approached the painting. He stopped directly in front of it and studied it slowly and intensely. The painting depicted a pack of wolves in half-shadowed forms standing beneath a dense night sky. Only a faint light was visible, slipping through the clouds, revealing eyes that glowed calmly yet alertly. Lennon raised one hand as if to touch the painting, but stopped a centimetre from t

Adam said gently. He was always like that. Adam never once messed with me. "Last night, you came to my room, opened the door, and took off my clothes, and you took off yours. We both enjoyed the night without me knowing that you were Adam. The lights were off so that I couldn't catch your reflection very well. I thought you were Gavin; I couldn't hear your sighs and whispers very well either. I might have. It felt different that night. But I didn't think much of it because, damn it, I enjoyed what you did to me," I said honestly. Adam was silent, and so was I. We faced each other in the room, remembering the sin we had committed.

We are going, - he looked back again, flashes of fiery rays were reflected in his blue eyes - like a flame that flashed in the mirror surface of the void. *** Golden strokes fell on the roofs of houses and illuminated the edges of scattered clouds stretching across the sky. The fireball was waning, but the stream of light did not want to give way to the night and continued to intensively flood the earth. It was hot, the many-voiced noise of the city burst in through the open window: the clatter of feet, the clatter of tools, the tense talk of artisans trying to finish as much as possible before dark.

A long diagonal stroke of titanium white that she had made one evening when she could not sleep and had stood at the easel at two in the morning just moving paint around the canvas without purpose or intention, simply because the physical act of it was the only thing that quieted her mind. She had been painting the city. Not the beautiful version of it, not the skyline as a composition, not the studied picturesque of bridges and reflected water that tourists bought in frames from sidewalk vendors. She had been painting the city as it felt right now, in this season of her life. The way certain corners looked at early morning before the light had fully committed to the day. The particular qual