Rotten Heart Novels & Stories

Blood. I stopped at the gallery overlooking the great hall and looked down. The sight stole my breath. In the center of the hall stood the man I loved, and the man who still sometimes frightened me. His aura was so dark and dense it seemed to swallow the torchlight around him. On the floor before him writhed a torn figure, the sentry, barely recognizable beneath his wounds. They were not claw marks. Frost shimmered along the edges of the injuries, blue white and unnatural, as if the flesh had been frozen rather than cut.

I pulled up the video from that online post and showed it to her. Sophia's face turned pale, and she was left speechless. Eventually, she lowered her head and turned to leave, but then she stopped at the door. "Would you believe me if I told you that I never understood how much you meant to me until I lost you?" "It doesn't matter anymore, Sophia. Whatever I felt for you is already gone." Just after I closed the door, the noise came from outside my bedroom. Samantha Carter poked her head out, hair tousled and eyes sleepy. "I can smell the food," she murmured.

Sara tried to take a deep breath, but only a sharp, piercing pain followed. The scar tissue in her lungs felt as if it had hardened instantly, refusing to expand. For months, she had lived in the illusion of recovery, her lung condition dormant. But now, as adrenaline flooded her system, the fragile organs failed her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, keeping pace with the panic spreading through her body. Her stiff lungs couldn’t keep up with the sudden, drastic need for oxygen.

Does that mean that I shouldn’t believe anything that these beasts said? “Is she?” Rowena’s grin became wider, putting a hand to her chest. And my shriek filled this dimension when the other Hearteaters plunged its bat-like hand in Rowena’s chest, staining her already filthy dress with bright dark red blood. I couldn’t smell that rusty scent especially when that Hearteater hoisted a beating heart in the air. It beats for a few seconds until it just becomes a heart on one’s palm, neither beating nor living. But I know how much pain would fill one’s soul, dying in the most brutal way I could even imagine. This feeling is the same back when I saw Eliane’s head leave her body and tumble on the g

His gaze is tender, he looks at me tenderly as if I were a little girl. —Our death by sun is a myth we spread, so that humans would think they were safe during day time. After all, we are supposed to be demonic and nocturnal creatures. —What about garlic intolerance? —Pure bullshit. —Would it kill you if someone put a stake through your heart? He laces his fingers with mine, placing my palm on his chest right where his heartbeat should be. — No precious. What is already dead cannot be killed. —What if you were cremated?

What kind of world was she living in? “ No, it is because…” Robbie dramatically paused causing everyone to look at him with questioning gazes. Only when he saw that he has achieved the dramatic effect that he wanted, he continued, “ The corpses that were found are missing their hearts, that psycho killer has ripped the hearts out of the bodies of the victims and many believes that this is something that only a witch can do.”

I turned to face him, forcing him to look away from the cold, clinical data and into my eyes. "My heart is crystallizing, Killian," I said softly. "The microscopic quartz fibers in my bloodstream are fusing with my myocardium. My ejection fraction, the amount of blood my heart can pump with each beat is steadily dropping. Within a few months, the muscle will become completely rigid. It will turn to solid stone." The silence in the Throne Room was absolute. For three agonizing seconds, the Alpha simply stared at me, his mind completely refusing to process the data. Then, the survival instincts of an apex predator violently overrode his logic.

Her eyes dropped— And all the air left her lungs. Black rot spread across his abdomen and chest, wrong in a way that twisted the eye—veins branching outward in jagged, creeping lines, dark as decay. They crawled toward his heart. Up his throat. Along his neck—climbing higher. Her hand lifted, hovering just above it. “What is this…?” Violet answered instantly. It surged from her palm—bright, urgent—spilling over the corrupted flesh. The rot recoiled. Skin smoothed beneath her touch—

The silence that fell over the tiny, amber-lit cabin was suffocating. Dante slowly unzipped his soaked tactical jacket, his breathing shallow and ragged. He pulled the collar of his shirt down, revealing the skin over his sternum. The flesh there was mottled with angry, purplish-black veins—the physical manifestation of the necrosis that had nearly liquefied his heart. The pain had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, but the biological reality of what he was carrying inside him was impossible to ignore.

Elysia, The distinct bitterness of oleander still lingered in my mouth, coating my senses with its deadly essence. It was the second poison I had recognized, almost immediately after the first. Oleander was ruthless—it weakened the heart, slowly breaking down its strength until it faltered completely. Heart attacks, heart failure, an excruciating end that left no room for recovery. Yet, I was still here.