The Art Of Healing And Revenge Novels & Stories

"Dr. Walker used to be a capable, ruthless woman who got things done. But after she became obsessed with Quinton, she turned into someone petty and vile. Dr. Foster, I'd rather follow someone truly capable like you." I smiled in satisfaction and let him step forward to carefully change the dressing on my hands. The new drug trial my professor recommended truly was the most advanced treatment available. In only a few months, the condition of my hands had already improved dramatically. At this rate, the chances of my damaged nerves recovering would improve a great deal. As long as I focused on my rehabilitation, I would be able to stand at the operating table again and fulfill my dream. - Two

Cody lunged forward and snatched the knife out of Mira’s hand. It was nothing more than a toy. He quickly restrained her, then apologized to us. “I’m sorry. My sister’s still young and immature. Please don’t hold this against her. “I beg you not to spread this around. We promise we’ll never bring it up again once we leave. She has a future ahead of her, a life to live. Please don't let this mistake ruin everything for her.”

Long after he’d fallen asleep beside me in our bed, his arm draped loosely, comfortably, across my waist, I lay awake, staring out at the city lights, no longer a symbol of threat or confinement, but a horizon of endless possibilities. The Ex-Wife Seeks Revenge. The phrase, once a bitter, defining label, now felt… distant. Almost irrelevant. My revenge hadn't been about destruction. It hadn't been about tearing down those who had wronged me. It had been about rebuilding. About reclaiming my life, my power, my identity. It had been about choosing to heal, to grow, to find strength in the face of betrayal, in the face of fear. My revenge was Isabella’s laughter, AJ’s sturdy embrace, the way th

Indeed, Fathia no longer needs that. For her now, it's about ensuring that Alef faces his punishment. Prolonged suffering, the kind that Fathia has endured. Its revenge sparked by the bitterness inside her. Wrapped in years of accumulated resentment, this vengeance is the essence of Alef's blind heart and mind. The accumulation of all his discontent with life, fueling him to commit such heinous acts.

He got up and spread his arms, as though he was trying to say that he own the entire world, "I am a Stalza. And if you know about us," he said in a funny informing tone, "if you know then you would also know that we are anything but sweet and gullible people." He finished his little speech. She could not belive him at all. She was scared with sweat dripping off from her face and tears rolling down her cheeks. She was shuddering and he was busy in boasting about himself. "He is dangerous. They are dangerous." A sudden sense of urgency wrapped around her mind as she only had two options - Fight or Flight.

Preston interjects, furious. "That's rich coming from you, Preston." I narrowed my eyes on him. "And anyways, I'm the one calling the shots, here" I continued, flashing him a glimpse of the photos I captured of him and Miss Brooks. "Why can't you just forget about this, like it never happened? Why can't you just forgive and forget?" Preston asks, frustrated. "I wouldn't be the Revenge Artist if I did" I smirk, using Natalie's ingenious line.

That the only good thing he'd done in the midst of that whole situation had come: that sudden revenge plan that had formed in his mind at the speed of a heartbeat. A way to hit Liam and Suzan in their egos where it would hurt the most. A way to keep those two bastards close and figure out how he could make them suffer for what they'd done. A way to do your best to heal Missy's completely destroyed self-esteem... A way to finally be with the woman he loved, as he had been dreaming of for months.

I'm aware the skeletal hand is rather startling, but it's part of her now and represents the hands of death. "It's a fucking skeleton. A creepy skeleton. Are you out of your mind?" she shouts. I ignore her distaste of my work. When she sees the entire piece, it will make sense. This isn't a cute little rose-on-the-ankle session. This is about fucking revenge and art and she's my fucking canvas. The steam goes out of her and she rests her head back and closes her eyes. The hum of the Dragonfly relaxes me back into the mood I need to be in to finish the piece.

I’m aware the skeletal hand is rather startling, but it’s part of her now and represents the hands of death. “It’s a fucking skeleton. A creepy skeleton. Are you out of your mind?” she shouts. I ignore her distaste of my work. When she sees the entire piece, it will make sense. This isn’t a cute little rose-on-the-ankle session. This is about fucking revenge and art and she’s my fucking canvas. The steam goes out of her and she rests her head back and closes her eyes. The hum of the Dragonfly relaxes me back into the mood I need to be in to finish the piece.

"I want him to understand what it feels like to be powerless, to be at the mercy of someone else's design." "Revenge is an art, not a blunt instrument," Violet observed, her eyes narrowing with an academic curiosity. "It requires finesse. Precision. Can you be our artist, Roanne?" "I can," I asserted, my heart thrumming with the promise of retribution. "And I will paint his world in strokes of fear and regret." "Passion is good," she acknowledged, her head tilting slightly. "But passion unbridled can lead to recklessness. Have you considered the price of this path?"