Splendor In The Grass Novel Novels & Stories

My vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness washed over me as I began to black out. “Just breathe,” Gracie whispered, her voice echoing in my ears. “Let it take hold.” she instructed. The room began to spin, the glowing orbs around me blurring into streaks of light. My legs felt weak, and I struggled to stay upright. I felt myself hit the ground below me as the world around me went dark, and all I could hear in the Darkness were soft, alluring whispers. —————————- This book is the property of Ulliend Musings and its brand. It is only to be promoted or disturbed by approved formats such as Goodnovel and KindleVella.

Narrator's POV Everywhere was completely dark in the woods until the blue precipitate in the area which had been the base of the river of Wolf's Crest suddenly began glowing purple. The purple glow remained in that area throughout the long cold night and finally faded away sometime around dawn only to reveal a muddy soil. It looked perfectly like a river that was just drying up but the miracle wasn't complete yet. Droplets of water soon began shooting out of the ground creating a small crater on the ground and once the crater was expanded in size, the ground began to rumble and quake as a powerful force came from underneath the ground.

The blade of grass was a miracle. It was a tiny, vibrant spear of green piercing through the dull, grey salt of the Draft. I stared at it until my eyes blurred. It was the first real thing we had made—not a digital trick, not a golden illusion, but a living piece of a new world.

"Get up, Clyde. You'll go with my men," Don Conway said, pointing to Clyde. Clyde nodded numbly and followed Mr. Banks out of the ward. The remaining members of the Shaw family and Yves waited in torment inside the ward, like prisoners awaiting judgment. … Back at the villa, Clyde led Mr. Banks upstairs and pushed open the door to the room he had never voluntarily stepped into. The furnishings in the room were so simple they bordered on shabby, forming a stark contrast to Rebecca's room, which was filled with luxury items.

Sweat slid from his temple. "The sad part," I said, looking into his eyes, "is that she waited, and you never came. You took Vivian Miller, the town councilman's daughter, to New York instead. You used my grandmother's scholarship documents, her life story, and her name. You became a Columbia professor. Vivian became the brilliant artist who escaped coal country." I lifted my hand and pointed at the woman beside him. "The real Grace Walker was left in that town and shamed for the rest of her life. That woman is not Grace. Her name is Vivian Miller."

He was Rosalind's brother and quite welcome here. "Well then, come sit by this fire. I just finished my novel and was planning to retire soon. I'd be happy to lend it to youif you enjoy novels, that is." She returned to her chair and picked up her book, then came back and placed it in his hands. "It's one of my favorites." He stared at the title. "Lady Jade's Wild Lord? Thank you." It was an L. R. Gloucester novel, a torrid Gothic novel, and he was staring at it with a reverent expression that tugged at her heart. Like a man who hadn't held a book in his hands in years.

The grass under Evryn’s feet still felt too soft to be real. She stood on a hill where wildflowers bloomed in gentle waves, the kind she remembered from her childhood—but couldn’t have possibly survived the collapse of the Nexus fields. Below the hill, a valley stretched wide and serene, where golden light filtered through towering trees and rivers danced like veins of silver. A paradise, reborn.

His adamant denials left her feeling foolish, but not convinced. The roof peak of the cinderblock building where the vampires were being held appeared above waves of hay ready for harvest. With renewed vigor, she forced her way through the tall silken grass that would transform into rigid stalks once cut and dried. Frustration rose at how it wound around her leg from time to time as if trying to prevent her from her final destination. By the time she reached the building’s coarse exterior, she felt exhausted from the journey.

she said from two, three hours ago as his eyes closed and his beloved sobbed in a shivering sea of gold. Hidden in the yellow grass, she crawled, clumsy and wounded. Silhouetted by the sun, the man stood. A surprising shadow haloed by light, he imagined, to his prey cowering below. He, safe where the grass was green, had yet to find the now useless treasure hiding close but not yet found. The stone and the thin band of silver both swallowed by the ravenous appetite of that hungry meadow.

I was expecting for this to happen given that no matter what I would do, he won’t look at me—but I wasn’t expecting for him to do this at grandma’s funeral and much more, in front of the high ranking wolves as if I were nothing but someone worth to be humiliated by. When they both left earlier—the moonlight panted them in silver. They looked…right. Like something the pack would approve of. I hate that my eyes would always follow him. I hate that I noticed the way he leaned closer when she spoke. For noticing how his scent wrapped instinctively around hers, protective and familiar. Indeed. She was like a diamond that brighten their world—while I, just a pebble on the road. I let out a bitter