Paris Myths Novels & Stories

It's fine. And I mean every word. The day has been magical. Paris is a city steeped in history. You can't understand how young America is until you've been in a country where the buildings are older than your founding fathers. There's so much life on the streets. Hundreds of thousands of lives have come before us in this city alone. The greatest painters and artists. The city is alive and dead—a magical place that lives within the two constraints, constantly reinventing and yet honoring those who came earlier. I didn't know if I'd ever get to see it in person, so even getting to spend a single day here it is perfect. Enough.

VINCENT MOREAU For a long time, romantics have thought of Paris as the City of Love. As a young boy who lived on those streets, I never saw why, though. There was not so much I thought was lovely about it. There were too many angry voices, fights in the streets, blood baths, and evil men for me to think too much about love in those times.

The Paris evening had begun like a dream. Golden light spilled across the boulevards, casting a soft glow on the wrought-iron balconies and cobblestone streets. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts from the vendors along the Seine. Amara walked beside Liam, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her heels clicking softly against the uneven stones. Paris had always been a city of romance, a city where love stories were written in every café, every bridge, every shadowed alleyway. But for them, it had become a city of ghosts.

And when he had finally inched his way inside of her … Furina shook her head as if that motion alone could wash away all the memories from last night. Looking down at her own body, Furina stared at her own nudity in pure terror. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at the man beside her. It was said that Paris was the city of love however no one told her that it could be a city of pure madness. Because that was all she could come up with as an excuse for her behavior. Evidently, she’d been careless and way more reckless that it was so out of her character. She didn’t have the bravery to take a peek under the duvet to see the evidence of her recklessness. Gosh, for one single night, she ha

I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach as I wondered if I had somehow missed something important. Paris took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her confession. "You were so drunk, and I was trying to take care of you. But you... you thought I was someone else, and you kept calling me by a different name," she explained, her voice trembling with the memory. "You were so insistent that you wanted to be with me, and I was afraid that if I rejected you, you'd get angry. So I..."...I let you think I was someone else," Paris finished quietly. "I knew you were too drunk to remember, so I figured it wouldn't matter. But I guess... I guess I should have said something sooner."

Yet if I had to do this to save Zoey it was about time that I came face to face with my fears. I sat down at the desk and then opened the book to find the thick and yellowish of color the page. I scanned through the text until a familiar word caught my eye: **Paris**. My heart thudded in my chest. Paris. It was the city where I found my biological parent, The city that changed my life until this very moment. My fingers shook as I ran them over the words again, the story of a coven of witches that used to plague all supernatural beings there, from werewolves to vampires and hybrids. These had been strong, holding power as if they were the only ones allowed to rule the world, they terrorized o

’ Esha teased playfully. Paris was always known as the city of love. Couples, when they crossed the bridge over the river Seine, would write their names on a padlock and latch it on the railings. They would hug and kiss each other profusely and then throw the key in the river, thus immortalizing their love. Anubhav remembered the last time he had crossed the bridge over Seine. He had wept there.

We spent 45 minutes exploring the church and it’s garden. We then made our way by foot to a park near the church located at the northeast end of Paris. The park was one of the biggest green spaces in Paris complete with waterfalls, grottos, cherry trees and a temple atop a cliff. Sasha indulged me in being my photographer around the park. We shared a selfie inside the Temple de la Sybille and he playfully kissed my cheek in one of them. The photo was absolutely adorable. We grabbed some coffee and snacks for a late lunch then made our way to a stained glass mural in the Madelaine metro station. The mural was a patchwork of Russian symbolism in the shape of a chicken with a golden egg based o

The battle of Paris. The battle of Paris is the most popular battle in vampire history. Orpheus was hosting a gala for vampires. There was a silent auction of human options to buy for the night. Torture devices were available to vampire to rent. (These devices would cause trauma to the victim that would allow the vampire the satisfaction of drinking from an open wound as their victim screamed.) They supplied drugs and alcohol. It had become the biggest night of the year for vampires and the deadest for humans. Thus why the city of Paris was nicknamed, ‘City of Darkness’.

The possibilities are endless. ‘And then Paris, the city of love, I want to sit in a cafe, eat croissants, drink coffee, be like a tourist and just eat anything and everything, macarons, crepes, tiramisu. Oh, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.’ She hugged herself and twirled around, lost in her thoughts.