Novelas y relatos de Tales From A Not-so-fabulous Life

“I am not a storyteller, nor am I a willing participant in that as well.” Chaos laughed softly, “It’s funny, you know?” “What is?” She asked curiously. Chaos chuckled wryly, “Life, a cruel piece of shit, always demanding more than we can give. We are expected to rise from the ashes, only to be burned all over again.”

It was dark and dingy. The smell of rotten bodies was heavy in the air. The sounds of dirty and running rats filled the dungeon. Laura was huddled in a corner, shivering due to the harsh cold. "What have I done?" She asked herself, shivering. Tears streamed down her eyes uncontrollably and at this point, she knew she wasn't going to come out of the problem she was into. She tried to think deeply about what had gone wrong in the kitchen but she couldn't pinpoint anything wrong.

Ashly was sitting alone in the meeting room. She was so sunk into the book she was reading. It's been a month since Monika left, and it's not like Ashly didn't feel bad when Monika cried in front of her, but what she can do She never likes to share her things with others. And it's not a bad thing because, apparently, her husband is also the same. Well, talking about now, she was reading a book called "The History of the Mafia Kingdom", when Zia entered the room.

Like the rest of his rundown mansion, the kitchen was in bad repair, the floors and walls layered with dust and dirt; the once cream wallpaper now black and tattered. Elika followed him into the centre of the room, standing beside a small metal coffee table, the surface seeming clean and sterile. Two equally small chairs were placed at either end on the table, the metal aging as it began to rust; the colour moulding into an orangey-yellow. She watched silently as he walked towards a large refrigerator, removing various food groups and juice. The feral man barely ate human food, preferring to quench his appetite on the living or animals. The princess paled at the thought, remembering back to

"Used to be. Gave it up when the stories started costing more than they were worth." That answer carried weight, the kind that invited questions but also warned against them. I set the mug on the low table in front of me and leaned forward slightly. "What kind of stories?" "The kind that get people hurt when they come out wrong. Or when they don't come out at all." I felt a flicker of recognition then, something tugging at the back of my mind like a half-remembered name. "You sound like someone who has been burned by the industry."

Under the streetlight, I caught a glimpse of his eyes—red and tired. I smiled. "No stress. I eat well, sleep well. Of course I've filled out a bit." I used to be barely hanging on—5'7", barely 99 pounds. Back then, I was stuck taking care of him, stewing over how obvious his thing for someone else was. Lost my appetite day after day. Slipped into a mild eating disorder without even realizing. It wasn't until I came to Inglane that I started healing. Started looking—and feeling—like myself again.

Bethany lowered her head and cried for a long time. I sent her the studio's address and contact information, then stood. "Work hard. Stop thinking about things you shouldn't. Life is long. Don't waste your time on someone else's man." I turned and left. Outside the cafe, the sunlight was bright. The comments exploded. [The villainess repaid resentment with kindness???] [I'm crying. She helped Bethany.] ["You don't even count as a supporting character in my life" is so fierce.]

Piles of trash festered in the corners, stinking to high heaven. This was no longer a home. This was a dump. My eyes stung, and my chest ached so badly I could barely breathe. I had failed my mother. I had failed to protect even her final wishes. “It is just a broken-down house. Stop crying.” Sebastian patted my shoulder. His tone was rough but comforting. “Before you leave for England, I’ll have this place restored to its original state.” “Thank you, Sebastian.”

Not in three weeks. "I have poured your coffee. I have cleaned your sick off the floor at two in the morning. I have lied to my own mother. I have buried the only person in this world who ever loved me without a contract, and I did all of it quietly, Fabiola, so quietly you forgot I had a voice. Well, I have one. And the next person who walks into this apartment to tell me what I am is going to leave knowing exactly what I am NOT." The apartment rang with it.

Later on, in order to carry on his family line, he even forced his younger brother on Vivian. Vivian tried to escape multiple times, but she was always brought back to him each and every time, even if she fled to her grandparents. Her grandparents said, "What woman hasn't experienced this sort of thing? You're the one who was a disgrace who couldn't even finish university, so what can you do other than give birth?" One rainy night, Vivian finally managed to flee, and ended up going to Horace. "Horace, save me! I don't want to go back to that hellish place. They're treating me as nothing more than a baby-making machine! I'll die there!"