Romantic Tragedy Novels & Stories

If you ask me, he should be the sacrifice…" Before I could finish, Ximena had already plunged her hand into James's chest and ripped out his heart. She chewed on the fresh heart, bite after bite. Then, she ordered the eerie puppets to drag his body away and drain the blood to use for the wedding feast. The puppets carried out the command with excitement, like it were a holiday. They hung James's corpse upside down from a withered tree to let the blood drain. "You should do it, my husband."

Roses, a white dress, the guests, the sunshine: it all felt so vivid, yet so surreal. His gaze landed on the empty spot where the bridesmaid should have been, and it all clicked why that seat was unoccupied. Natalie was gone. She was gone forever. She had taken her life. She had done that with his unborn child when she leapt from the 18th floor. It was all because he tampered with her medicine, because he dared her to prove her true love, and because of his whispered lies of forever and always. He did everything to win her heart.

With a sudden, violent motion, she swept it off the nightstand. The glass shattered against the stone floor, the liquid spilling out like wasted light. Dante let out a guttural sound, a mixture of triumph and agony. He crushed his mouth against hers, a kiss that tasted of finality and fire. This was the "Intimate Love Romance" at its most visceral—a communion of the damned. He didn't make love to her; he reclaimed her. He used the "Body Betrayal" as a conduit, forcing her to acknowledge that her choice was permanent.

I giggled and sank into the tidal wave of his love. The night stretched long, and so would our happiness. Not long after, I became pregnant. When Caleb and I visited our new villa, we saw Thomas and Juliet tending flowers in the park. Their old clothes were streaked with dirt. Adrian was nearby, drunk in broad daylight, with a crying baby beside him. Under the scorching sun, their former pride had long since vanished. Seeing me, they hastily pulled on their masks and hurried away with Adrian. Their aging figures were the very picture of desolation.

She knew pink roses stood for being touched, a love declaration, symbolizing first love. Trevon was celebrating the sweet memories of his first love with Lydia. A tribute, a remembrance. So what was with his constant promises not to divorce her? Was he just trying to keep her calm, to prevent her from causing a scene, not to mess with what he had with Lydia? She had already let go. Why was he still messing with her feelings? Lydia, in her dress and diamond tiara, looked stunning, like a princess. His princess. It was a gesture that was truly awe-inspiring. It was the kind of thing that made others green with envy.

Stacy toppled forwards onto the floor, her mind plunged into the darkness of a stormcloud, coursing with errant flashes of lightning. Her eyes stared forward at nothing. Her ears echoed with the vague sound of screams all around. "Help! Someone's been murdered!" "Mr. Dorne, it's your girlfriend!" In a fleeting moment of lucidity, Stacy caught sight of Joseph disappearing into the crowd, unheeding as he walked away, Charlotte safe within his arms. He never looked back, even once.

I asked someone to transport the urns back home. Even stacked up, they didn't even reach my shoulders. As soon as I opened the door, a force knocked me down. I fell into the urns, and they all hit the ground. Ashes spilled everywhere, and it was impossible to tell whose was whose. I looked at the one who had pushed me. Daniel stood over me, as if towering above gave him a sense of superiority. Pointing at me, he raged, "You have the nerve to come back? If I hadn't shown them our marriage license, I'd be sitting in a cell right now! You really are a wicked woman!"

The door to the honeymoon suite clicked shut with a heavy finality, the silence inside broken only by the faint hum of the city below. The Grand Royale Hotel’s presidential suite was lavish, opulent an unmistakable symbol of wealth, power, and supposed romance. But the air inside was anything but sweet. Karen stood by the window, her white designer heels discarded, her perfectly styled hair now falling messily over her shoulders. She was still in her gown. lace, fitted, shimmering but there was no joy in her posture, no sparkle in her eyes.

I stated emptily, "How can I know Ryder and I won't end up like them?" "The lovers were romantically reunited in death!' Brandy exclaimed, "How can you call that ending a bad one?" "West side story. Tony and Maria?" I challenged. "Oh, it's basically the musical version of Romeo and Juliet," Brandy waved her hands. "Titanic? Rose and Jack?" I sighed, exasperated. "That was their own stupid fault," Brandy shook her head, chocolate curls flying, "Jack could have fit on the board. I guess you're right, though. Stupidity is tragic."

“Something like a love story… Romeo and Juliet, perhaps?” “That’s not a love story, Anastasia,” Sebastian corrected absently. “It’s a tragedy.” “It started as a love story though,” she replied. “Just two romantics falling in love. If their families had just let things be, they could have united them in happiness.” “I like Mum’s idea,” Jasper said as bother Charlotte and Jay started to speak, surprising them into silence. “I like Mum’s idea. Romeo and Juliet. But as it should have been. Two families united in marriage.”