Possessing The Obsessive Maniac's Cotton Doll Chapter 1 Novels & Stories

'What if it had escaped while you were just about to make your way over? 'come on, don't give me those ridiculous ideas, there's no way that can happen, it stayed there when I crossed the first time, still there when I crossed the second time and waited, come on even if Thanos and Hulk are backing it. There's really something sinister about this book, when did my head start talking to me as if it's got its own body? Shit! This book is playing with my head I've got to explore you, you must be magic.'

But as I just closed the door, " what are you doing in the lady's room, young man?" I was stunned to see that someone caught me. And it's not just someone, it's the freaking arrogant Ren Ishikawa! Fvck! end of chapter 22

It was too toxic for me. As I walked in the woods, I could hear rustles. Today, the weather was cold which led to fog covering the path. I heard the rustles again. There was a scent I sniffled in. “Who’s there?” I said. Something was definitely watching me. ------------------------------------------------ A/n So, what did you think about this chapter guys, I will really love it if you comment your thoughts about Tata Mama disrupting everything. If you like this chapter, consider leaving a review for me. Thanks for your valuable coins!!

It was completely dark inside. Just when I kept my foot inside, I was grabbed quickly and pushed against the door. I felt a weight on top of my body. A hand clicked the knob beside me to lock it from inside. The intoxicating fragrance of lotus flower and heavy breaths were falling all over me. My wolf was almost losing its mind. I was still pressed against the door. I could feel Zen struggling with his wolf to keep it in his control. Suddenly he asked in a hoarse voice, "What do you think you're doing?"

She stood in the bathroom of a man's apartment wearing his hoodie and listened to his ex-girlfriend's voice through the door and had, for the first time in a long time, absolutely no idea what to do next. End of chapter 11

He wrote the first line of a new chapter. "Once, there was a man who was a beast, and a woman who was a ghost. They lived in a city of gold that turned to dust, but they found a truth that the fire couldn't touch." Behind him, a woman with tangled hair and a diamond-encased wooden ring walked out of the morning mist. She didn't have a suit, and she didn't have a name. She looked at the man writing on the wreckage and felt a strange, impossible sense of gravity.

A pulsing. My focus snapped back to the dolls. Specifically, the one with my hair. The twig shoulders began to tremble. The tiny lock of hair writhed, coiling like a living thing. Before I could blink, the doll burst into flame. It wasn’t a slow catch. One instant, it was intact. The next, it was engulfed. A sudden, bright flare of orange‑white, unnaturally hot, licking up its twig body and devouring it in a second.

And this time, I wasn't going to play by the rules of the draft. I hit the ground. It was dirt. It smelled like rain and oil. I stood up and looked around. I was in a room I didn't know, holding a gun I didn't recognize. A man stepped out from the shadows. "You are early," he said. It was the Publisher. He looked young, healthy, and evil. "We haven't even started chapter one yet." I looked at him and smiled. It was the deadliest smile I had. "Then let's skip to the end," I said.

Nyla’s POV I'm drawing a pentagram on my apartment floor with sidewalk chalk at midnight on a Tuesday because apparently this is what my life has come to. There’s a leather-bound book open beside me, old, as if it survived the Victorian era. I found it at an estate sale last weekend, buried under a box of porcelain cats, which feels like the universe burying a loaded gun inside a Build-A-Bear. It was quite an… interetsing book. The chapter I keep returning to shows a naked woman arched on her back on the floor, with a demon-man like being, with extra limbs, and an abnormally huge-sized cock burried inside her pussy.

“The book, or the color?” “The color, of course,” she chuckled, a hollow, defensive sound. “I have nothing against books.” An unbearable silence choked the office, echoing only with my ragged breathing and the tight, furious gasps of my mother. She was so consumed by his mind games that she entirely forgot I had stopped dancing. But Sebastien hadn't missed it. Reaching across the desk, his long index finger clicked softly against the buttons of the intercom. He held the receiver to his ear.