Parable Ink Novels & Stories

I commanded, my voice calm, a sharp contrast to the humming machinery around us. The screen shifted. It showed a side-by-side comparison of two biological frequencies. One was a deep, thrumming gold—Girard Roux. The other was a bright, shimmering violet—Arielle. Where the two lines met, they wove together in a perfect, unbreakable braid. It was the Lien de Sang. The mate bond. To a poet, it was destiny. To me, it was a dual-channel data stream.

‎(Ar⁠ia’s POV) ‎ ‎The ink wa‍s⁠ darker than I⁠ expected — black, bold, fi‌na⁠l. ‎ ‎It ble⁠d slight⁠ly int⁠o the pape⁠r, lik‌e a bruise. ‎ ‎My hand trembled as I s⁠ig‌ned my name: Aria Collins.⁠ ‎

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She was amazed at the various shades that it offered; the wonder of ombre colors that it created, from the stunning shades of pale blue, regular blue, dark blue, light blue-green to dark green, and so on in other groups of pigments. "You can get one and draw your favorite cartoon character. Just make sure to take care of it." Erika continued to speak even if Via never minded her words. "Only make sure to take care of it. I secretly stole it from my sister," Angela whispered with a smile on her face.

I wanted to go back but didn't want to stay alone because as long as I was with my family, I was happy. *** "Pink or yellow?", asked Ama as she held the pencil colors for me to see. I pretended to think before answering. "Blue" a frown graced her delicate features as she replied "Princesses don't wear blue" she said choosing to go with the yellow and ignore my advice. "Who says blue isn't a princess color?" I asked feigning interest "Everyone". I rolled my eyes at the vague answer. "Don't say 'everyone' if it's just your friends who say so" she made to speak but I cut her off

Why are some people like that? Alice, just like some people I've come across, seem to be only interested in comparing themselves with other people they meet. I don't know what everyone else would make of it but I think, it's actually inferiority complex. It drives them to want to showcase all good things that's happened to them and ask if you've had something like that as well. And when the answer is negative, they feel this sense of fulfillment. It would be understandable if I hated Alice but I didn't. It's only humane to patronise a cast down soul. I continued my little journey and when I got there, he wasn't there. Much to my chagrin. I had to admit that I would really love to see him aga

"But as I said, as long as a relative of mine is still alive, we are not oblige to do so. Thanks to Mamang Turiya." "Who is that?" "My grandfather's cousin." "So, what now?" "You understand right, that I came here not to make you propose to me or something? I came here because I am finding something, as what I said, the Vermilion. The one thing that could stop the Malignobons. And I believe if l could find it, we will not get oblige to stick to each other forever anymore. There's a story that our ancestors had told us. It's about the Vermilion. Once found, it would grant the catcher to have two wishes. I promise you once I find it, one of those wishes that I will make is to break the treaty

He smoldered with resentment, rage flowing through his veins like lava, his throat was closed, and the not in his stomach got tighter and tighter by the minute, so did the harden in his chest. They finally took her, they touched what belonged to him, Damien laughed out ferociously, his eyes resembling that of a barbaric animal tasty for blood, he licked his lip truculently. Seemed like they desire nothingness because Damien Martinez would bring it to them. He could make their wish come true, he would gladly send them to hell after giving them heaven.

“That’s like saying pink isn’t its own color.” “Well...” she trails, and the boy gasps. “Pink is its own independent color!” He defends. “How dare you imply otherwise!” “What?” she shrugs, insisting that she hadn’t done nothing wrong. “Pink is just a variant of red. A lighter version.” The boy gapes, feigning deep offense as he shakes his head, those dramatics of his coming to the surface. “Wow!” He complains. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation. Clearly you’re blind and have bad taste. I can’t be seen associating with someone like you.”

Ryu effortlessly removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, settling in comfortably. Ryu frequently goes to this bar whenever he found himself having a hard time working on his ideas and creativity, which seemed to be a common occurrence for him. He was particularly fond of the establishment's relaxed ambiance and the profound conversations that ensued among the customers after they had indulged in a few drinks. "The coffee they serve here is exceptional," Ryu remarked, breaking the silence. Yuka nodded in agreement, inhaling the rich scent of coffee that permeated the air. The bar initially served only alcoholic beverages, but due to popular demand, the management decided