Stolen Stories Novels & Stories

I wanted to ask why I was just now being informed of this, but it didn’t matter and I wasn’t going to quabble. Harold was a once trusted accountant who had been stealing from us as it turned out for many years. He took such small amounts it didn’t set off any alarms for a while. That was the main problem with thieves. They would take a little bit and get away with it. Then they would begin to feel empowered, emboldened but then the greed would set in. They would feel like a little more wouldn’t go unnoticed, and so on … until they were in way over their heads and it was far too late.

The shamanistic bard opened his arms, indicating everyone in the room as they all murmured hypnotically in response, “Aanaittu tantaiyin peyarrril“. They chanted the words, low and guttural, repetitively as the bard continued. “For its safe and intact delivery into the hands in which it belongs, the esteemed leading families of the Verrraipucci, 100 gold coins, our sincerest apologies for the unfortunate accident that took a man’s life-” Stefan snarled. ‘Accident? My left foot!’ That was not what happened, and if he were Clarissa, he would tell them where to shove it. “-and her family’s indoctrination and adoption into the werecat tribe.”

So, the devils had planned an illegal Surrogacy with the poor teenage maid who worked in their big mansion. The car stopped in front of an isolated cabin in the middle of woods. He asked his driver to leave. Mazov walked carefully on the broken stairs. With more cautious on the door, he creaked it open. After finding his favorite spot in the corner, he relaxed a bit. The pakhan, Pakhan and Pakhan. But right now, he was just Mazov. A simple man with a horrible past.

Ralph whispers. I shook my head. Everything isn’t well. I don’t have a good feeling about this. Papa’s silence is like the tremors before a tsunami. It’s deadly, and I’ve seen it happen before: Lux Corp had invested in a company that came up with a revolutionary design for a robotic steam mop, and when another company copied the same design and tried to patent it as theirs, Papa sent someone to ‘persuade’ that CEO to not commit a crime. Back then, I thought Papa was kind enough to not call the authorities on that man, but then no one ever heard from that man again. And the company seemed to have never existed in the first place!

My grandfather was a thief. He stole my grandmother’s name and the opportunity that could have taken her out of the backwoods, then left with another woman by his side. One of them became a prominent law professor, standing at the front of lecture halls talking about fairness and justice. The other became a renowned fine artist, speaking in front of news cameras about art and integrity. Meanwhile, my grandmother was trapped in the backwoods her entire life, enduring pointed fingers and malicious insults everywhere she went. She died with her eyes wide open, refusing to rest in peace. Fifty years passed. I owed everything to the sacrifices of my grandmother and mother. Thanks to them, I

"I won't believe a single word unless someone proves it." Ariana's mother slowly walked forward until she stood beside Adrian. "It's true." Nick looked at her with anger. "I've had enough of your lies." "This isn't one of them." Victor climbed halfway back up the steps. "What are you trying to do?" Ariana's mother answered calmly. "I'm giving him something that was stolen." Nick laughed bitterly. "My life has been stolen since the day I was born." Adrian's smile faded for the first time. "You think you suffered?"

After he left, I reread the section that would anchor the piece when the time came: *There's a difference between a story and a theft. A story is what you tell with consent, with context, with attention to potential harm. A theft is what you take because you can, then monetize the damage. We've taught a generation to mistake exposure for accountability. In spaces where people risk being vulnerable, that mistake becomes a weapon.* I stopped, read it aloud, and didn't hate it. That's as close to love as a writer gets when the stakes are this high.

"They took your daughter and ours. They didn’t care who they took, knowing no one cares about missing girls. The Goldacre family knew. Everyone who donated to the school or bought a girl, knew. Think about your daughters. Don’t you want them to have a better life? Stand up for what you want. An alpha is only as good as his pack. Make them listen. We are at war right now, but we don’t have to be. Me and my sister’s kidnapping started the war twelve years ago, and I am telling you now, we don’t have to keep fighting. You don’t have to join us, but you should realize we aren’t as different as they are telling you. My father is not a monster or the Iron Alpha. He is a man who was consumed by gri

I am left here to ponder about my own misfortune. I cannot be a stealer. It’s impossible. Stealers were creatures of myth and legend. Bad omens, the worst kind of creature to exist according to the stories, but not real. I'd never heard of a stealer existing anywhere in North America, much less the rest of the world. Even the legends are so obscure that I barely know what a stealer even is. I believe it has something to do with unmated men and widowed pack members. On top of everything, the topic is a large taboo.

I’d give them a documentary on laundry. Thump… thump… scrape. The sound of Jeff’s work echoed in my soul, a rhythm to build by. The Deconstructors had made one fatal error. They’d kidnapped a mother. And a mother’s stories, no matter how “irrelevant,” are the weapons that built the world.