Spell Priscilla Novels & Stories

I could almost picture Priscilla tilting her head the way she always did when she was curious. “What kind of favor?” she asked. “I need you to make a model of Rain. An exact copy. Something that looks, smells, and sounds just like her.” Priscilla didn’t answer right away. I could feel her confusion hanging in the silence. I was just as confused as she was. Why would he need this? Truly, Priscilla was from a foreign pack - not from Septha. They could do illusions that almost seemed like magic. But they needed something of the same exact size to do it.

Priscilla doesn't scream, she just shuts her eyes and bites her bottom lip holding it in. “I'm sorry godmother” she apologises and i'm left dumbfounded. “I believe it won't happen again” godmother answers and turned to leave. “You can't do… ” Priscilla drags my hand and I sit back in the chair and I look at her. “What was that?” Godmother asks and Priscilla gently shakes her head. “Thought as much” with that godmother walks out. “Oh my… ” “Shhh…just keep quiet” another girl whisper yells.

You weren't like this before. Priscilla failed to stifle a laugh. But it wasn't a happy one. Instead, it was one of contempt. "And what was I like before? You gave me a rotten firework and told me that no matter what situation I'm in, as long as I light up the firework and make a wish, any wish would come true. And I was gullible enough to believe you. But I'm no longer the little girl I used to be." As she said that, Priscilla reached into her limited edition LV bag and pulled out a black firework in the shape of a dragon. She pointed it to the sky and set it off.

“You knew her. Didn’t you?” “I saw her yesterday,” she said softly. “She spoke to me then, too. Told us something was coming. Something worse than Caius. I didn’t understand it then…” Her voice trailed off. But I caught the last thing she muttered under her breath. “Now I think I do,” Priscilla whispered. We all stared at her—waiting. She looked down at her hands, then up at us again. Her voice was soft, but steady. “She’s not just a Herald,” she said. “She’s connected to me. Because of what I am.”

Priscilla was still intimidated by Madison and Wanda. "We need to act now." Adelaide's tone softened as she noticed Priscilla's red eyes. "Don't cry. I'll go with you. I'll take responsibility." Priscilla's voice was hoarse and vulnerable: "I'm counting on you. Tell Lance not to be angry with me." She no longer referred to herself as a priestess, her usual arrogance gone, replaced by a touch of coyness. Adelaide shuddered at this sudden display of vulnerability from someone who usually carried herself with such pride.

They walked across the room that surprisingly didn't echo. " Good evening Princess. May I ask who is with you please?" A voice said and they both turned to see where it had come from. A man almost as wide as he was tall stood nearby. How did that house of a man go unnoticed? " And what is your position and badge number, may I ask?" Sam replied. " Vice Head of Security Princess. Badge number 3110200242." The officer stood at attention and stated.

"But I have my own plans for her. I came to Portfall to start fresh, but she won't let it go. I'm going to avenge my brother, and she'll regret everything!" She turned to Jillian. "By the way, I'm not Wanda Pedgett. My name is Priscilla Draycott." Despair filled Jillian's eyes. "What you're doing is illegal!" Priscilla shook her head dismissively. "I'm just pursuing eternal life." She slowly raised the small knife. "Don't worry, I won't take all your blood at once. I'll keep you alive. Fear makes the blood quality better." Just as the blade was about to touch Jillian's wrist, Jillian used all her strength to scream. "Help! Someone's trying to kill me!"

It was as if they had all rehearsed this scene. So, to them, the wounds all over my body were nothing more than an act to fish for pity. I looked at them—the impatience in Hylton's eyes, the disappointment in Emma's expression, and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of Priscilla's mouth. I felt like laughing. If any of them had just taken a proper look, they'd know that these hideous wounds couldn't possibly be makeup. But Priscilla had that kind of power. Just one sentence from her, and they threw their brains right into the gutter. What use would any explanation be?

For three years, I used my family's mob ties and my own money to pave the way for Declan's crew. He was the boy I survived the streets with as a kid. But at this month's sit-down, his newly hired secretary, Roxy, tossed my casino ledgers and club records onto the table in front of all the guys. She accused me of skimming profits and slacking off. "These underground banks, these smuggling docks," she read the numbers out loud, her voice full of fake outrage. "Every time she bribes someone, she skims thousands of dollars! She's lining her own pockets." "I say the Boss strips her of her club manager title right now to save our cash flow." I glanced at Declan, the boss of the crew. He knew

Xander yelled at her. She turned to look at him, the aura around her turning ominous. I felt suppressed by her power, and I grabbed at my throat, choking. I saw Molly and Xander doing the same as me. Suddenly, the aura lifted, and I could breathe. I coughed fiercely for a minute before looking at her. “What are you?” I asked. “I am an original. I am an ancient one. I am Priscilla. What are you doing in my territory? I don’t recognize you. Are you conspiring with the wolves?” She spoke loudly and clearly.