Pretty Face Is Going To Hell Novels & Stories

Hold on. Her lips curve. Small. Ghostlike. She knows. God, she looks like hell. Swollen cheek. Split lip. Dried blood at the corner of her mouth. Body exhausted. Pained. And still — still — she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. The devil inside me smiles — that bastard is dead. They’re all fucking dead. Deep breath in. Slow out. “Hey, angel.” My voice comes out smooth. Arrogant. Like this is a cocktail party instead of a slaughterhouse.

Even he hadn't expected it to be this bad, though he recovered quickly, smoothing his expression back into place. "This is what survival smells like, folks. You all need to get used to it." The heavy iron door ground open. Sunlight from outside poured down the corridor, cutting into the darkness. Even through the masks, a few of the guests gagged. "Good lord..." Gerald wrinkled his nose, his voice muffled behind the mask. "That's worse than rotten meat..." Mom's face went cold. "How many days has that child gone without a bath? How did she let herself get like this?"

“And they will call it justice. Or providence.” Her lips trembled. “They will not bury you properly,” Malachor continued. “They will not speak your name with grief. They will speak it with relief.” Images rose without her consent: the pit beyond the fields, earth thrown quickly, bodies layered like refuse. No candle. No prayer. No hands smoothing cloth over her face. Elizabeth shut her eyes hard, and a few tears fell from the corners. “I won’t be here to hear them,” she whispered. Malachor’s fingers tightened at her jaw firmly to insist on her attention.

Her perfume still floated in the air, sharp and cold, like something expensive that didn’t want to be touched. He had tried to be good. He’d smiled on the video call, said hello to his father, even waved to the lady and the girl beside him. They’d smiled back, the lady’s smile had been soft and warm, and the little girl, Mira, had laughed when he’d shown her his toy car. For a second, it had felt… nice. Like something that should be real. But then Diana’s face after the call, that smile she wore like it was made of glass, ready to break, he knew it meant trouble.

Willow's POV I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror, the woman staring back at me almost unrecognisable. My cheeks were hollow, my blue eyes sunken deep with dark circles beneath them, and my once vibrant hair hung limp and lifeless. The long, low-cut dress clung to my body, a testament to the weight I’d lost. The high slit up my leg seemed to mock me, revealing not just skin but the fragile state of my soul.

Preston bellowed as he dodged the flying items. Smirking, I flipped the table over. He looked at me in utter disappointment. "Jeanine Colby, you've turned into a vulgar woman. You're so different from Jeanine from high school. She was a goddess, out of this world." I glared at him. "The same goes for you. You're more appalling now." With that, I made my way to the bedroom to get Emma. Halfway, an idea struck me. I turned around and announced to Preston, "You do not deserve to work with me. Harlan Group will call off the partnership with your hospital."

Those eyes reminded her of everything brown — the coffee. Crinkles usually formed underneath and beside his eyes whenever he cackled. Those crinkles got her thinking if he was older than he looked, because, asides the crinkles, his porcelain skin always shone with youthfulness and vibrance, the kind of vibrance that radiated from a healthy teenager. " ... want some berries?" Dr Jake offered her a bowl of red berries. Rosaleen gave a soft, close-tipped smile which the young man couldn't discern if it was an approval.

“Did I just hear you moan my name, Simone?” I look at him, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. I’d just come undone thinking about him, of course I’d say his name. “Yes, Daddy…” I murmur, biting down hard on my lower lip as I let my knees fall apart, unashamed of the glistening moisture slicking my thighs. “Or should I say Father King? Or Professor King?” I let out a low breath, tracking the dark, dangerous shift in his eyes. “I prefer Daddy though, but I’ll call you whatever gets your hands on me.” ~~~~ Simone Grayson slept with a stranger one reckless night and discovered too late that he was someone off-limits. He turned out to be her professor and was supposedly owned by God.

If I hadn’t been too shy or maybe scared of him, I would have said this to his face, “ God, You look like hell." I don't think in my entire life I have seen someone as godly built beautifully. Jeez he was even a male to mention, his beauty is heavenly. Maybe he fell down from the heavens, because I don't think someone like this was born out of a woman. No. He. Fucking. Fell. From. The. Heavens. This face was stunning, comparing a model to this was a huge crime and should be punished for commiting such an horrible crime. “ We shouldn’t waste more time to get Alisa buried son, she needs the peace.” his face seem like his heart was squeezing tight that he couldn’t breathe, and Grey feels irria

I know what that smile means. He wants me to take my pick of the five women, because he already has the ones he wants. Great! This is definitely not what I need, and now, I’ll have to let them down gently. “Oh, my goodness. I knew that face looked familiar. You look somewhat different in real life than on television, but that’s because television doesn’t do you justice. You're waaaaay more handsome in person!” One of the girls tells me. She pushes her chest forward, so that her breasts, which were already spilling from her super tight dress, spill out of them even more, and look like they’re going to fully pop out from the dress anytime soon.