Phantom Of The Opera Face Novels & Stories

But in the center of the wasteland, standing exactly three hundred yards from the western pylon, was a figure that didn't belong to the apocalypse. She wore a crimson silk coat—the exact shade of the one I had bought in New York to prove I was no longer an Omega. Her chestnut hair fell in perfect, glossy waves, untouched by the acid rain. She stood with a liquid, predatory grace, her face a flawless replica of the woman I had been before the river, before the stone, before the war. The Phantom. She didn't raise a rifle. She didn't summon a god. She simply stood in the toxic mud and looked up at the dome. Her eyes weren't gold or sapphire; they were the clear, unburdened hazel of a girl who h

If anything, he seemed oddly composed, as if none of this concerned him. The moment Mom saw him, she lost it. Ignoring the officers trying to hold her back, she lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar. “You damned animal! What did you do to my daughter?” Lenny stared at her in shock. He remembered her as the generous, well-paying client, but what he couldn’t understand was how, in just three days, that elegant woman had turned into this disheveled, hysterical mess.

She took a yellowed photograph from our mother's hand and returned to the table. She set it before Dante. Three little girls stood in the Rossi garden. Anna and I flanked either side. Between us stood a smaller girl, half a head shorter. Her hair hung in loose tangles, and her dress was plain. Her face was unforgettable. Even as a child, she was devastatingly beautiful. A cross-shaped scar marked her left ankle, distinct as a brand. Dante studied the photograph for a long moment. Something shifted in his expression. "This girl," he said slowly. "Those eyes. That bone structure."

My brother is lucky to have her. Against my wishes, Drake has organized for an holiday away from the pack. He has managed to convince me to get some reconstructive surgery once we get to our destination so as to mend the scar on my face, the scar I have always admired as a badge of honor. I will now get it removed and no one will ever call me Scarface again. It's a name I was willing to accept but now it goes.

Its ears had stood up straight, searching for the source of the sound, slowly breathing through its muzzle as its eyes searched round in the darkness and the woods for the one who made such sound It still had a Mark on its claws. The other had shifted back to his human form, and his pain had increased with his shifting process. He was weak beyond imagination. The Phantom was a powerful beast that night, and his strength had failed him when it came to fighting such a monstrosity. It searched until its eyes had caught the sight of something hidden within the trees. It intentionally reduced his breath, breathing slowly while it strained its eyes deeply into viewing what it had suspected to be t

“Not now.” “I’ll do as you say, Phan.” Phantom sniffed and pulled away. His brown eyes shone brighter and latched inside her. Something powerful came over Phantom. Emotions that Shadow couldn’t name flashed across the man’s features. Phantom leaned in and cupped Shadow’s face in his hands. He was so close that Shaadow could see the individual lashes of his eyes, the specks of brown in his irises. He was so identical to her. After all, he was modeled after Shadow with different gender, height, and masculinity.

He’s a monster. “The Phantom doesn’t indulge the weak. I have no need of weaklings. Now,” he rounded me, “what is it that you come here for, brave one.” He stopped just in front of me, raised my chin with his cold, slender finger, his minted breath dancing on my face. “I love the look in your eyes.”