Shades Of Blood の小説・ストーリー

I can feel their presence pressing against my skin, not cruel, not kind— just inevitable. And then I wake up. Every time, my heart is racing, my body cold, my hands shaking. But there’s never pain. “The second dream is different,” I said, my voice lower. “It came after.” This time, I’m not in the forest. I’m standing in nothing. No ground. No sky. Just darkness stretching in every direction, thick and endless, like I’ve fallen into the space between worlds. Then light breaks through it. Four shadows rise around me, tall and massive, their shapes shifting constantly. Wolves but not like any I’ve ever seen. Their bodies are made of moonlight and smoke, their eyes burning silver, gold, red, and

Elder Sharon looked at her for a long, agonising period, then a vicious, twisted smile bloomed on his wrinkled face. “So be it,” said Sharon, his voice ringing in the tomb. The Trial of Blood and Shadow is at midnight. Let’s see if the Northern Fire can blaze through the gloom or if the King’s new Luna will be nothing more than bones in the dust.”

It turned out that people like them eventually meet someone worse. I lowered the brim of my cap and turned to leave, not wanting to be recognized. However, fate has a twisted sense of humor. My leather shoe stepped on a dry leaf. Crunch. Brian's head snapped up. Our eyes met. His eyes went wide. Like he had seen a ghost. Or a savior. "Bro?!" That single shout drew everyone's attention. My dad looked up, too, a flicker of light in his eyes. "Chester… Chester!"

Julianne stared down, deep in her own thoughts with her legs crossed on Marianne’s bed. She recalled the earlier encounter at the boy’s dormitory and she felt a cold chill run through her, causing goosebumps on her skin. At least she had thought Cassian was still somewhere close to good, because they shared a secret, but turns out that he is just like every of the others out there…another version of Shane. It’s only after they get what they want that they dispose someone off, not caring about what happens after and not caring the consequences of their actions. It’s sad.

~~~~~~~~~ BOOK OF BLOOD — NEW ENTRY "They built a weapon out of our shadows. But they forgot what happens when the light comes back." "Let Echo come. We’ve buried worse." “Way worse than this” — Aria

And every choice now carries blood in its shadow. ───────────────────────── To be continued ❤️ ─────────────────────────

“T⁠he blood I sou‍ght‌​ to spill‍, th⁠e hatred I carri‍e‍d…he was the real en‌emy.⁠” ‌ Aziel n‍odd‌ed, jaw t‌ight. “I‌’ve car‌ried shad​o⁠ws‌ to‍o,‌” he said qu⁠ietly, voice rough.‍ “Shame I‌‍ nev‌er ear‌ned.‌‍ Pain I ne‍ver cau​s‌ed⁠.” He looked at h‌er, eye‍s softening. “A​n⁠d toni‍ght​…we b⁠urn​e⁠d‌ b⁠​oth⁠ away‌.”

Matrix’s POV The wardline pulsed behind me, low and steady, like a second heartbeat I didn’t want. I spat blood into the gorse and watched it bead bright in the rain before the mud swallowed it. Shoulder burned, thigh leaking, nose broken. Every breath whistled. Silver’s blade had kissed deep enough to hum. I’d bled across three continents for less cause, but she always made it personal.

I stepped out, robe wrapped tight around me, and followed the sound of the music until the curtain ahead came into view. Then I stepped through. The room was dim, lit by a single spotlight centered on the stage. Four shadows sat beyond a thin curtain, barely visible but very aware. Watching. Waiting. The music kicked in. Slow at first. Heavy bass rolling through the floor. I stepped into the light and dropped the robe. For half a second, my body went rigid. Then the whistles started. “Damn!” “Look at that—” Money fluttered into the air, drifting down around my feet.

The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting fractured patterns on the floor — much like my thoughts, splintered and jagged. I sat at the small kitchen table, clutching my cup of cold coffee, staring at the leather-bound book *Reflections of the Forgotten* open before me. The stories inside weren’t just tales — they were warnings, lessons written in sorrow and hope. Women who had lived as shadows, trapped in lives borrowed from others, fighting to reclaim their own reflections.