Pulp Fiction Dahlia Novels & Stories

I heard dahlia ask and thought to myself, sometimes certain experiences in life teaches you to forgive and trust the person to do better in their second chance. "Hey." I turned and looked at Dahlia with a smile but it was not mutual which was surprising and when I looked down I realized why. "Oh geez, what happened to your dress?" from the middle of her dress to the very bottom was covered in what looked like champagne. "Don't even ask." She said glaring at me. But what happened? I knew I didn't have to force her to spill because she will start telling without me prompting her. And I was right. "This jerk, he dropped his drink on me and then had the audacity to flirt with me and you know wha

I said. As Niamh held Dahlia by the waist, I pulled hard. After a moment of resistance, I yanked the tunnel off of her. Dahlia was red-faced, her hair full of static electricity. She was crying in loud, gulping sobs. “It’s okay! You’re fine.” Niamh soothed her and gave her a tight hug. She gave me a look that said she was trying very hard not to laugh. “Dahlia gets stuck in a lot of places,” Fiona informed me. “Once she got stuck in between those stair things.”

"Are you going to say that to me? Can Dahlia debt that you were not with her in the bathroom this Morning? Or would you deny that you didn't enter her room and try to sneak out, she even caught me staring at her at the stairs" "You damn liar!" Dahlia could no longer control the anger that seeped through her as he attacked Quinn, her hand wrapped around her neck as she best tried to suffocate her. "Die! Die!" Dahlia was the past boiling point, I wouldn't blame Her, anyone In her shoes would act that way but I wouldn't let her do what she might regret later, she hadn't killed anyone before, and even hated it when I put an end to the lives of our enemies. She would rather send them to exile as

“I’m Dahlia. I’m from the Cold Star pack. I was captured and held hostage by Red Ripper, but they had no use for me. I was too small and too weak for them to ever take much notice of me, so I was left in the cells to die. I was to be used in their witch’s experiments, but…” Her bottom lip wobbled, and her voice quavered, but she held firm, broadening her shoulders and hitching her chin out defiantly. Pale ginger curls clung to her brow with sweat. “There were rumours in the cells, rumours that the witch had escaped. They were struggling with their magic, unable to control it without her. Day became night, and the flowers and plants were all dying. I saw that for myself, when I ran.” Someone’

Dahlia was crying, disconsolate and leaning on Clara. Clara sat her down on a white leather pouffe and sat facing her, waiting for her to recover. " What's the matter, Dahlia, do you usually slap him like that? " he asked, offering her a piece of paper he found on a small table for her to wipe her eyes. " I've never laid a hand on him before, I swear to you.” Clara said nothing. Soon the woman, more recovered and just sniffling, began to speak.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m quite jealous of your youthful beauty. I would give anything to be in my twenties again.” “You have to be joking,” Delfina was surprised by the comment. “You’re gorgeous. If you and I went to a club right now, you’d get hit on twenty times more than I would.” She looked over her body, “you must work out day in and out and never touch carbs.” “It’s genetics,” she beamed at the compliment. “Thank heavens we take after Mom because Dad, despite being handsome aged terribly.” “It was the cigars and scotch,” Fiamme said with a sniff as she wiped a tear. “He always kept a damn cigar clamped in those lips.” She whispered suddenly, “I’d give anything to tell him one more tim

But all is fine now. So long as she is fine, I don’t care about the rest. Everyone is staring at her, and her watery eyes nail on me, like a wronged little animal. I can’t say no to these eyes. “Are--” Dahlia says only one word before water brimmed her huge deer eyes with visible speed. It amazes me how much she can cry, really. It’s like she is made of water. “...Alpha, sorry for the interruption...” After a long struggle, Dahlia manages a faint smile and a lousy curtsy. She was born a delicate princess, not a maid.

It faced us, its eyes focusing on me. “Dahlia,” I whispered, my voice scarcely audible. "I understand," she responded, her voice serious. The figure lifted a giant hand, and the world appeared to pause in anticipation. “We can’t prevent that,” I stated, panic edging into my tone. Dahlia remained silent. She was already in motion, rushing toward the figure with unbridled resolve. “Dahlia, hold on!” I shouted, yet it was already too late. The figure brought its enormous hand down, and the final thing I noticed was Dahlia vanishing into the darkness.

As I move, my dress rustles softly, and my hair stays perfectly in place. "Wow, Lessia is this not too much?", I ask unsure. "No, it is perfect", Lessia said still trying to arrange the strands of hair on my head. I rolled my eyes and said, "Lessia why did you dress me like this, I look like two million threw up on me". She looked at my reflection in the mirror and said, "You look amazing and by the way you are the daughter of the Mafia boss, you need to dress the part". "Mafia?", I asked confused.

Park West was known for its active nightlife, so I couldn't find a quiet spot to wallow in my misery--oh there was one. After a long moment of walking unsteadily, I trudged over to the lonely spot beneath a lamplight, my purse hanging off my shoulder listlessly, head aching, heart aching. CIS (current internal Status): miserable, life currently feels like it's tearing at the seams. Resting my back against the hard walls of the quiet alley, I swiped away the hair sticking to my head due to the humid air, and took out Ayla from my purse, holding on to her for a while.