Stolen Tongues Novels & Stories

A backhand meant to clear space. Cyprian dodged, but the wind of the blow ruffled his hair. Fast, Cyprian realized. Impossible speed for that size. Cyprian danced back. He needed to find a weakness. He looked at the giant’s mouth. It was slightly open. And then he saw it. When the giant breathed, there was a strange wheezing sound. A guttural click. He had no tongue. Cyprian stared. This wasn't a fighter. This was a slave. Someone had cut his tongue out. Someone had tortured him until he was nothing but a weapon.

“I’m clarifying it.” Another pause—longer this time. He changed tactics. I could see it happen: the shift from confrontation to persuasion, from force to framing. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said. There it was—the soft language, the controlled tone, the illusion of care. “This isn’t easy for me either.” I watched him, listened, felt the words settle and then not take hold. Because they didn’t fit anymore.

“You’re not theirs anymore.” I whispered: “I’m mine.” And with that word, the weapon in his hand burned completely to ashes. The pieces rained to the floor. He fell to his knees. But didn’t surrender. He smiled. “I am reborn.” His voice turned darker, not human. He spoke in tongues older than silver, older than blood. He stood taller and stronger. “Blood remembers. Debt awakens.” I prepared myself, but the splinter in my palm ached. My vision blurred. The tower shook again. We fell to the floor as something cracked open behind us. Chains fell.

Too many eyes and too many tongues had been bought by gold. “We need more people, foreman,” a deep voice cut through the murmuring. It belonged to a rebel in a bark-brown mask. He was one of the original twelve who had started with Thaddeus. “If we are to launch a citywide march and be taken seriously, we need more than the hundred we have here.”

Knowing she could not dally anymore, she shouted, "Okay, okay! I will tell you the real truth now! Just stop!" Laura's dark skin now seemed to sag, weighed down by the crushing burden of her secret. Her grey hair appears dull and lifeless, like a veil of shame cast over her face. Her brown eyes, once warm and loving, now filled with tears, brimming with a deep remorse that threatened to spill over. Her voice trembled, a barely audible whisper, as if the words themselves were toxic, poisoning her very soul. "Tristan, I, I stole you," she stammers, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down, daring him to confront the truth.

Jude The next morning, I wake with a weight pressing down on my chest. My body feels heavy, but my mind won’t rest. I spent most of the night turning from side to side, haunted by every mistake I have made. Isabel is gone, I threw her out of my life, but even with her out of the picture, peace doesn’t come. Because the truth is, my greatest mistake was not Isabel. It was losing Seline.

Countless scornful looks fell upon me, and my body stiffened. The words I had strung together were lodged fast in my throat. All I wanted was to retrieve my belongings. All I wanted was to say goodbye. "What are you doing here?" Before I had time to recover, Ivor emerged from the villa holding a stuffed toy. It was our token of love from when we were 18. On the day of our engagement, it went missing. I thought it was gone forever.

In those stolen touches, they found solace, a connection that was unspoken yet profoundly felt. And then there were the stolen kisses, moments of vulnerability and desire that they couldn't resist. Their lips would meet in secret, and in those stolen kisses, the world around them would fade away. The taste of each other, the warmth of their breath mingling, it was a stolen indulgence that kept their souls alive amidst the chaos of their lives.

Audrey struggles and whimper in his arms, trying to set herself free but he held her still, giving her no chance to escape. He bites on her lower lips giving himself access into her mouth. Audrey couldn't tell how it feel but all she could deduce was the taste of something disgusting and insane. She intentionally bites his tongue, hard enough to leave blood dripping. Wendigo pulls away the moment he realized he was going to lose his tongue, face hard in anger and pain. "You may find pleasure in taken that which doesn't belong to you, I am neither your property or victory medal... No one except Cannon owns me!" She said and spite out a mouth full of blood, his blood at that.

Damon answered, his voice laced with sarcasm and a slight involuntary smile crept in the corner of my lips. His mouth will get him killed faster than I found him. I smirked. "Hey, boy, mind your mouth or else we will throw you into our dungeons and let our pets feast on your tongue." Elder Leon declared with a scowl and my smile faded away immediately. The pets he meant were called Lingua Mortis. This terrifying ancient little beast, was no bigger than a human hand, which possessed an insatiable appetite for all kinds of animal tongues including that of wolves.