Tarnished Embers Book Novels & Stories

I found a book that seemed nice and pulse-racing, Blood Brothers by Nora Roberts. I took it off the shelf and looked back at Ashton who was now holding Jack in his hands. I went to the till and paid for the book. We then went out of the shop and headed to the car park. When we got to the car park, I got in and took Jack from Ashton to remove him from the cover and place him back on the stand. It was around 5:30 pm so we still had some time before heading home. Ashton read that from my mind and then he went around the car, got in and sat on the seat next to mine.

TITLE Tainted Memories AUTHOR Honesty577 . This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination. . COPYRIGHT All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the author except for use of quotations in a book review. If you want this book to be placed on your platform please see contact information on the author page. . DEDICATION This book is dedicated to my many loyal readers, my creator and my ancestors.

Like a dried-up well. Nobody cared. Not about her. “A rootless cultivator isn’t a cultivator,” he’d said, gentle as if reciting poetry. “She’s a stain.” Her father didn’t even glance at her. Her brothers looked at her like someone finally lifted a heavy weight from their shoulders. So when a fire ripped through the estate—probably some rival assassin targeting the scripture vault—nobody looked for the disgraced third daughter. She became part of the casualties, one less problem on their ledgers.

She fell asleep with her sister’s hand in hers, the taste of salt on her lips, and the scent of soft bubbles and flowers surrounding her. The clock on the wall ticked away the final hours of her life as a Moretti. The sacrifice was prepared. The fire was lit. And in two days, the world would watch as Serena Moretti walked into the flames, all to keep a single, freckled girl from being burned.

EMBER Ember’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as heat flooded through her skin, making the tangled sheets around her feel suffocatingly tight against her flushed body. The loft lay shrouded in darkness, save for the neon glow that bled through the rain-streaked windows, casting erratic shadows across the walls. Outside, the city thrummed with its restless insomnia, the buzz of distant signs, the hiss of traffic slicing through wet streets, and faint music leaking from some apartment three floors below, yet none of it pierced the intimate bubble enveloping her. In that moment, all that existed was him: Ghost, his body hovering over hers like a broad, solid wall of quiet strength, pressing

Her name was Ember, and she had traveled from the burned lands in the far south, where the gold flowers grew through the ash. "The watcher called me," Ember said, standing at the garden gate. "It said there was healing here for me." Mira studied with her. There was a rawness in Ember's gaze, a grief that had not yet found its shape. The watcher had called her, yes—but not to teach. To be held. "What healing do you seek?" Mira asked. Ember's voice was steady, but her hands trembled. "I was a child when the fire came. My family died. My village burned. The gold flowers grew through the ashes, and the watcher showed me this place. It said I would find rest here."

I watched her go, not with suspicion, but simply observing. "It probably has to do with 'you know who'," Ember said quietly. "I know." "Do you still think it's nothing?" "I think it's something that isn't my business yet." "Yet," Ember echoed, the word a subtle annotation. The library was blessedly empty when I arrived, just how I preferred it. I'd been coming here since the curfew began, bypassing the obvious texts on the accessible shelves, the sanitized histories that barely qualified as information. My focus was on the back case, the one with scratched-out titles, ancient locks, and pages that seemed to hold their breath, guarding secrets. I’d read enough in the Emberclaw library to know

He simply holds me, looks out the window, breathes against my clean hair. And I remain there. Prisoner of the warmth of the fabric, of the warmth of his body. Prisoner of this parody of tenderness that seals, more deeply than any violence, the fact that I belong to him. The ashes in the fireplace do not move. But inside me, something still burns. An ember remains, buried under tons of wet ashes. An ember that only needs to be blown upon to become a new fire. But for now, there is only the cold of the ashes. And the waiting.

There was pain in her voice. Ember’s throat tightened as images of the village filled with dead bodies and blood flashed into her mind. She pushed those thoughts away, she can’t afford to be distracted now. She has to concentrate to be able to unleash her power that her grandmother had locked. “What is that?” Ember referred to the book that Yvette had in hand, though she already had an idea what kind of book it was. Yvette carefully placed the book on her lap as she occupied the couch opposite from Ember. She wiped the dusty surface of the book with her own bare hands.

He sat up. And saw her. Standing in the doorway. Scar under her jaw. Smoke still in her hair. But her eyes? Peaceful. And dangerous. She said nothing. He said: “Did you win?” Ember walked forward. And said the only thing that mattered. “I remembered who I am.” LOCATION: Cinder Vault – Post-Erasure TIME: 11:41 a.m. The vault was collapsing. Flames crawled along the ceiling panels, eating away the metal like old sins peeling free of bone. The purge sequence ticked louder with every step Ember took.