Sarah Ban Breathnach Books นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“Sarah is one of my finest weapons. She was a nurse in the human form before she discovered she was from the lineage of the witches. She was trying to investigate her background when she came across this mysterious man (well, me), who bit her neck and made her into a half-breed vampire. She heals slower than I can, but she sees into the future. She can't cast a spell, but she can elegantly walk around in broad daylight. She has been with me ever since, and even when things went south at some point, she was there. She was so supportive and loyal to me, and I don't ever want to lose her, making me subconsciously give her anything she wants, as long as it is within my reach!

CHAPTER 29: Nothing I didn’t survive Sarah walked out of the powder room and stumbled out of the banquet. She felt like her chest and airway was closing up. She needed to breathe. The air outside the banquet hall was cooler than it should have been for the season, thankfully. Lights spilled out in golden halos, from the tall french windows, even as laughter and clinking of glasses echoed faintly from the hall. However, none of it touched Sarah as she stood just beyond the hedge-lined pathway. She was stuck in limbo, in the middle of pain that always pushed to the surface whenever she was forced to remember her past.

Arham enters the room and saw Sarah is arranging books and some stationary. He asked her in confusion: Sarah, what are you doing ?".Sarah move her head up and look at him and said: "Actually, you know my vacation started. So, I was thinking to teach village girls who can't go to the city to study. It will help them. Hope you don't have any problem ".

It wasn't long before she found out that she could read everything despite very slowly. It was a poem, which read as follows: 'It was the Coming of the Midnight Sun, A daughter of the Sacred Wood, Lay in a chamber of the House of the Moon, And thus shall wither like a dying star Til the touch of a virgin at dawn.'

SARAH: “Bri‍n​g it here. Le‌t’s se‍e.⁠” AYANA brings her notebook over. They work th⁠rough the pro⁠blem tog‍et‍her, SARAH explainin⁠g patiently despite her⁠ exhausti‌on. The evening continued i​n th⁠is comf‌ortable rh⁠ythm​—‍dinne‌r together, c‌hildren bathed and put to bed, SARAH and AMO​N collapsed o‍n the couch afterwa⁠rd.⁠]

SARAH WAS PETITE, tall with blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She was in her mid thirties but still looked twenty-five as a result of her round babyish face. As far as she could remember, she had been writing and she grew up with the dream of covering the most insane, mysterious, mythical and unbelievable stories and reports in her writings. Before the last two years, she had been doing researches on different gods and their mythical stories, coming up with captivating writings in forms of articles and short stories. In the last two years, she realized that there seemed to be gods among humans and wanted to cover a writing about them but she had not really heard anything about them or gathered

Nights on the mountain were peaceful. Sarah would sit by the window, her face illuminated by candlelight as she read the few books they had at home. They were mostly second hand novels, dog eared and worn, but they were treasures to her. She would press her fingers to the faded words, tracing their outlines as if memorizing every curve, every letter. Her mother, Mary, would come in sometimes, her arms full of firewood, her face tired but warm. “Books are like windows,” Mary would say, patting Sarah’s hand. “Even if you can’t see everything yet, they’ll open up worlds for you someday.”

Placing a hand on my head, I feel a headache coming along. “Damn it, it’s like reading the same thing over and over again.” Sarah, who doesn’t even look half as fazed as me, continues to flip through her fifth book with ease. “We can't give up yet; I am sure we will find something in one of these.” I wish I had as much hope and enthusiasm as she did. I pick up the next book and flip through the pages lazily. For a brief second, something catches my eye. I flip back a few pages to see exactly what it is. It is a picture of a bleeding wolf standing before a divine being.

The urge to know more about her spurs me forward as I spin and face the rest of her room. Bare beige walls and a bookshelf that is full of books staring back at me. Most of the books look brand new and have never been touched except for three. As I move closer to the shelf, fingering along the three well-loved books with fraying spines, I realize Sarah was a romantic. Each book describes a girl whose life altered drastically and who was saved by a handsome prince or man of status. All stories are morbidly opposite to the life she is living with a mate who couldn’t save her from her living nightmares.