Razorblade Tears Novels & Stories

The razor's cold touch against my skin was a paradox—a weapon capable of both destruction and liberation. In the profound solitude of that moment, I grappled with the choice before me. The sharpness of the blade mirrored the sharpness of the pain that pierced through me. The physicality of the act seemed an apt metaphor for my desire to sever the emotional anguish. With an unsteady hand, I took up the razor, its metallic surface cold against my trembling fingers. The tattoo of his eyes, etched on my hand, became the canvas for a desperate act. Drawing a small cut, I watched as blood welled up, staining his once-promising gaze. The crimson stream became my focus—a tangible pain to eclipse the

I look away and continue on my way, hoping she'll just back off. Her footsteps slowly get closer. My eyes slightly widen when my ears pick up on the familiar sound of a blade cutting through the air. I've watched mother throw knives as long as I can remember. I'm very familiar with the sound of a blade being thrown. I lean over just in time, letting the blade flip pass me through the air. A growl vibrates my chest, glaring back at the female. "You think you're just going to walk around as if you've done nothing!!" The female point a silver blade towards me. Tears escape her red puffy eyes as she glare at me. While anger covers her face, tears of sadness and pain leak from her eyes.

Its blade caught the red light, gleaming like fire. “Elara,” he warned. “I’ll be fine,” I lied, because it was easier than saying I don’t have a choice. I pressed the edge against my palm. The metal bit deep, and blood bloomed bright against my skin. The Tear Drop pulsed once and then twice, and then drank the offering, the light spilling outward in waves. The cavern roared. The crystals flared alive, burning so bright they turned the air to heat. Then—silence.

Her body subconsciously fighting against her restraints. Without any words, he rubbed the blade on her nipples, drawing the sharp edge from one end to another, enough to sting but not bleed. The cold blade stung slowly as he pressed hard on her nipple. She struggled to scream, but more pain. Tears rolling down her eyes. She could feel her heart fail but somehow it persisted. The blade stung more, he pressed deeper as the blood dripped down her torn nipple. A little further, it came off into the bow of blood. Turned to the other.

Silent tears rolled down my face. Why? Why couldn't I just have a normal family and a happy life? I never wanted to hurt anyone. I never even got involved with the things they did. But maybe I wasn't innocent either. The money that was used to raise me was dirty, stained with blood and tears. No matter how much I tried to deny it, I couldn't escape payback forever. I just never thought the price would be my own family trying to kill me. When Neil saw me crying, his whole face darkened with fury.

Amid her struggle, Jacklyn's eyes landed on the fruit knife she had left on the bedside table, the half-eaten apple beside it. Summoning every ounce of strength, she slid backward. As soon as her fingers grasped it, she shoved Eugene's face away from her neck with her other hand. Jacklyn's eyes glimmered with deadly intent in the darkness. Eugene's gaze fell upon the fruit knife, its blade flashing with a chilling, icy gleam. In her agitation, the blade had nicked her own skin. Vivid red droplets ran down her body, sharp and stinging, forcing Eugene to wince.

The sword known as the treasure of Blade's Reach was destroyed by Adrian. Hansen looked at the shattered Lunar Edge, completely stunned. The next moment, Adrian struck again with the Hellblade, which carried a killing intent that surpassed everything. The attack was about to fall on Hansen's neck.

Tears are falling off my eyes, and I start to whimper. "N... Are you crying? Why are you crying? I hope you're not crying for David because he doesn't deserve anyone's tears or sympathy." She tells me. "I'm not crying for him. I'm crying because life is so hard. Being black and a vampire has not been an easy journey for me. It still hurts that my parents lost their lives because of racism. Why must we have to suffer the most? This life is so cruel and unfair!" I wailed, venting out my frustration.

I was just picking up my spoon when he told me our marriage registration would be delayed again. "Let's do it next time," Ethan said as he put down his cutlery. His tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather. I took a sip of my food, chewed slowly, and swallowed. "Okay." He glanced at me, picked up his fork, and then looked at me again. "You're not angry?" I continued eating, my voice entirely flat. "No, I'm not." Our wedding ceremony had been held six months ago, but this was the seventeenth time he had postponed getting our marriage certificate. He was used to doing this. And I was used to accepting it. I finished my meal bite by bite. He didn't touch his

I squeezed my eyes shut and took deep, trembling breaths, but the whispers refused to stop, repeating their accusations with cruel repetition. My vision blurred, tears mixing with frustration and exhaustion. My gaze drifted toward the cabinet, pulled there by something unseen. I didn’t even realize when I opened it or when my fingers found the razor tucked inside. Before I knew it, the blade was in my hand, cold and sharp against my palm.