Solangelo Book Novels & Stories

"By the way teacher. Don't you have something to explain to me?" Currently, Sol was reading a rather thick brown-covered book titled dangerous zones in the world. It was a rather interesting book written by one of the angels living in Slothstein. Edea, meanwhile, was elegantly sipping on her tea when she heard his abrupt question. Intrigued, she put back her cup on the plate and threw a questioning glance at Sol as she queried for him to elaborate,

The face remained impossible to distinguish. Just darkness. A silhouette. The head itself appeared oddly pointed, as though covered by some kind of hood. “I hear you're about to embark on your first adventure in the wider world.” The stranger stopped beside the bed. “You need a little preparation if you want your life to remain inside that ugly body of yours.” His tone remained conversational. “But first, you must become familiar with pain. Because death and danger feel very much the same.” The shadow leaned closer. “And they’re a lot less pleasant than fish-head curry or fried chicken with green chili.”

The government, grateful for his service, let him keep his issued rifle, the Cheytac. When Great Great Grandpappy Lolo Sandalo finally arrived at Tau Ceti 4 (Bagong Silangan), the rich agricultural planet had turned him from soldier to farmer overnight, hanging up the rifle by the wall. But even then, he has never forgotten his skills as a stalker and hunter. He had considered the rifle as the family heirloom; and he passed down not only his rifle but also his sniper tradecraft- marksmanship, stalking, and camouflage- to his sons if only as past-time. He and his sons would hunt large, alien game, during the planet's equivalent of summer using the rifle. As time went, great great Lolo passed

“Yeah, you did.” They both laughed, the sound rippling through the studio. Solana, formerly Solange, stood in front of a mannequin, a pair of tailor’s shears in her hand. She was draped in a charcoal-colored vest of her own design, her hair pinned back in a sleek, no-nonsense bun. She looked like a woman who had never known the back of a laundry room or the grime of a motel floor. She brushed her fingers over the seam running down the sleeve, feeling the tension in the fabric the way some people might feel the pulse of a living thing.

"Yes, we are. And we're going to enjoy it." TBC 1010 word count. Xoxo... we're almost done. My book L'Angelo Dell Terrore Is out now on Goodnovel. Pls add to library lovelies. 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 1

Nine remained. And one of them? Was crossed out by someone else. LOCATION: EDGE OF THE OLD CITY – ABANDONED LIBRARY TIME: 8:33 a.m. The books here were rotting. Histories no one wanted. Bloodlines no one respected. Solene moved through them like a shadow without a past because the stories left inside these walls were the kind that erased people like her. She knelt in the back corner. Pulled a volume from the stone shelf. Dust covered the title:

There was also the fact that Alfred wasn’t the only one whose body felt as if it would explode if it didn’t get relief soon and she sensed the same was happening to Martin. The odd taste of the suspicious pizza still lingered on Martin as his tongue explored the cavity of her mouth in such a sensual way that she felt as if she’d entered a surreal world of erotic promiscuity. Her head grew light as the world became more dreamlike while her lover kissed her long and hard; sliding her shirt high enough to expose her abundant, tethered breasts.

Antonia remarked with a smirk and Solange looked up instantly, Solange would pretend she didn't know what Antonia just said but she did. "Mother, I feel…I feel like that Livia is just like Olivia…why won't they let him be mine…I want her out of the way…Luciano is only mine," Solange was in tears as she gripped Antonia's hands. She hated the fact that Luciano never loved her. Even when Olivia Altamirano died, he still yearned for her and now Livia was his latest obsession.

Sam stood silent by the sedan,“No devices past here.” I shook my head. “Nothing left to burn.” Freedom needs no signal. Twelve hours of sun. A vampire’s grave. My sanctuary. I adjusted the strap of my medical case—empty yesterday, full of purpose today. This heat doesn’t blister me. It fuels me. These children don’t see a vampire. They see hope. I stepped onto the cracked earth, and took the first breath of my new life. Not running from him. Running toward them. New York. The ceremony.

Happy Reading! Solange Daye