Romans & histoires Silent Night Author

It was a peaceful silence, the kind that one feels when they are in the presence of something greater than themselves. In the midst of this stillness, Lucy lay in bed, feeling the weight of her guilt and confusion. It was as if the silence amplified her thoughts, making them louder and more persistent. She couldn't escape the feeling that she had done something wrong, that she was betraying someone who had only ever been kind to her. The night was a reflection of her inner turmoil, a reminder that sometimes the quiet can be the loudest thing of all.

*****************************POV: Claire********************** --- There’s a certain kind of silence that doesn’t feel safe. Not the comfortable, blanket-wrapped kind that comes after a long day. Not the sweet, post-rain hush where everything smells like earth and renewal. No, this silence is sharp. Like a knife held just out of view. And that morning, it followed me.

he said, chalk scratching across the board, “is often louder than presence. What is unsaid, unseen, undone, carries its own weight. Consider how writers use silence, loss, and distance to shape their stories.” My pen froze. Because wasn’t that my life now? Wasn’t that exactly what I was living — absence louder than presence? My stomach twisted as the room blurred. I blinked hard, forcing the page into focus. But when I tried to write, only one sentence spilled out: His silence is louder than his laughter ever was. That night, I dreamed of him. Not the version who betrayed me. Not the version who laughed at my pain with the others. But the boy who whispered secrets in the dark, who touched me

Dead. "Together," Silas’s voice echoed in her mind, but it was distorted, layered with the high-frequency hum of the Creator. "In the Silence, we are finally... one." But Lyra Thorne had spent three years learning how to live in the dark. She knew that the Silence was not a sanctuary; it was a harvest. She reached up, her fingers closing over Silas’s wrist, her own violet blood slick against his marble-white skin. She didn't try to pull the blade out. She pushed herself further onto it.

On this silent night, I can hear my silent cries the loudest. 🔸🔸🔸

17 VIKTOR The silence between us was thick with something unspoken. Sabrina sat across from me, her eyes avoiding mine, her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t spoken much since the mission, and that was fine. I didn’t need her words, not yet. She was mine, even when she wasn’t fully aware of it. I leaned back in my chair, watching her. The weight of the world seemed to press on her delicate frame. She was unraveling, slowly but surely. Good. That was exactly how I wanted her.

Still, I said comfortingly to her, "Mom, don't be sad anymore. I can't keep you company anymore, but you have to be happy." The wind ruffled Mom's hair like the caresses I used to give her. She looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "Ray, you're still so young, and you've always been afraid of the dark. You never dared to sleep alone, but now you have to sleep by yourself in the icy cold under the ground. Are you afraid? "It's all my fault. I let you come to harm. I should have just left with you from the beginning instead of staying and trying to get your father's love by force."

In one place, there was thunder and lightning, while in another, the night sky was clear with starlight. With the thunder rumbling and my heart beating far too fast, I collapsed inside my own closet.

she whispered. “I don’t either,” Henry replied, voice cracking. They stood facing each other, two broken hearts bound by the same ghost. Outside, the last ray of sunlight faded, leaving the room in twilight. And in that twilight, a new silence settled between them, one heavier, deeper, and more intimate than ever before. The silence between two hearts. Elena suddenly remember how she dead!

They need to be true and timed. I close my eyes and let other people’s silence rise into mine. Behind the wall, Lena turns in her sleep, murmurs once, then settles. In the hall, Elise’s tread—light, even—makes its patrol past the clinic door. Somewhere below, Marco’s keyboard ticks once; he can’t stop himself from adjusting lines of code that are already perfect. Leo’s laugh—quiet, private—strikes like a struck match and goes out again. On the far end, Jennifer’s door closes, not a slam, not a whisper. Something measured. And Victor—his silence arrives last, heavy and precise, the kind of quiet that doesn’t ask permission to be a room. I feel myself reaching for it like a railing, then pulli