Smoke Symbolism Novels & Stories

The smoke disappeared into the air. The candles and incenses were lit on the table to create a flicker in the breeze blowing through the kitchen. She placed the crystals in the oven. Red for blood, fire, violence, health and danger. Orange for change and yellow for mourning. Black for evil and dark. She began stirring the crystals in the oven with a wooden spoon as she chanted a spell. The oven became so hot the spoon began to catch fire. She reached over to the sink and filled a glass with water. She propelled the glass of water onto the fire. The steam spelled out Slaughter Hill. The spell was completed.

the messenger cried, running to her side. The old man lifted his staff, his voice rising with power. The air howled as a wall of wind surrounded the burning room. Slowly, painfully, the flames began to die. But even as the fire dimmed, the ground beneath it glowed with strange symbols, shining through the ashes. When the last flame went out, silence filled the forest again. Only the faint smell of smoke and the glow of the symbols remained. The old man lowered his staff, breathing heavily. Sweat rolled down his wrinkled face.

When Caspian crossed the bronze door, he couldn't help frowning and muttering, "Why is the smoke so thick?" In front of him, smoke billowed. It was not the kind of black smoke with soaring evil Qi, but just like a light smoke gushing out when burning straw and firewood. However, the smoke was not hot or choking. Otherwise, Caspian would have thought that someone had set a fire here. Although it didn't cause people to cry, it made people unable to see clearly what was happening in front of them.

"HAVEN!" My scream rips through the choking smoke, raw and useless. No answer comes back, only the hungry roar of flames and the distant, brutal clash of combat somewhere deeper in the haze. The smoke isn't normal. It's thick, oily, purple-black instead of honest grey. It tastes like sulfur and rot on my tongue. Dark magic. The kind that burns hotter, meaner, and clings to skin like poison. Donovan's hand clamps around my forearm, iron-hard.

I'm glad he was there for her. Funny thing, the smoke is gone now. I’m hoping that means that when Levi killed the rock thingy he also killed the smoke surrounding the town. I have no idea how they are all connected. But I know Kody and I couldn't get through the dark smoke fog. It was like pressing up against a wall, and yet it let her through.

"Here we are—I can get you started with Blackwood's *Ritual Smoke Practices of the Late Period* and Mahmoud's translation of the *Papyrus of the Serpent's Breath*. Fair warning though, some of the source material suggests these weren't just symbolic rituals." "What do you mean?" The librarian leaned forward conspiratorially. "The ancient accounts describe practitioners actually experiencing prophetic visions through the smoke. Modern scholars dismiss it as religious theater, but the documentation is remarkably consistent across all versions of research they say that the smoke cobra can appear to people at a cross road in their lives should them possible futures but its up to the receiver to

Dan Several years ago... Fire. An emblem of life. A conjuring of earthly elements: oxygen whirling round the air with an outpouring of a good quantity of petroleum uniting to bring to life a powerful roaring crack of hades, smoke jutting out of it as steamingly heating enough to keep you a mile away to seek refuge for your own life. Unfortunately, sometimes, the chaff of smoke emanating from the outbursts of the symbol of destruction, damaging enough to leave your lungs in a perfect jalopy.

He eyes filled with rage as his grip tightens around my arm. I nod as fear runs down my spine, filling every inch of my body. As I step into the room, the pungent smell of smoke hits me like a brick wall. It is not the kind of smoke I’m used to smelling from a campfire or a barbecue. No, this smoke smells old and stale, like it’s been trapped in the room for years.

Would always be nothing. Over and over, he pounded against the lid. Over and over, that song of fire and darkness flared through him, out of him into the world. You do not yield. Echoed Something hissed and crackled nearby, and smoke poured through the lid. But He kept striking. Kept striking until the smoke choked him, until its sweet scent dragged Isak under and away.

The smoke had turned red and its wisps kept dancing upwards like they were attempting to replicate something. "Is it supposed to do that?" Sofiane asked, releasing David from his grip. "No," David confessed, looking in awe as the smoke formed some sort of hellish red tree. "What does it mean?" David's blue eyes swung towards Sofiane. "I think your mystery girl is a stitch." What David failed to mention was that Sofiane's mystery girl had her soul stitched with a certain witch. David looked at the smoke one more last time. It sort of looked like the infamous insignia of the blossom family. It was damn cherry blossoms.