The Crimson Lady Novels & Stories

I turned to look at Leon who only held pity in his eyes for me. "Who is Crimson?" I asked calmly trying my possible best to control my anger. "Lady Crimson is the crown princess of this realm," Leon answered as if he was trained to say that. "That is not what I mean, I mean who is Crimson to Aethelfrith?" I shouted. "With all due respect, Tryamon please do not raise your voice at me or allow your actions to disrespect me in anyway, I am not Aethelfrith your lover but Leon his brother," Leon warned, his expression turned serious.

A calming breath through my nose settled me and I cleared my throat. ​“Thank you for coming. Welcome to Tencrest Manor. Tonight marks the 200th year of the Crimson Accord. This season’s Crimson Ball focuses on the unity of the Founding Ten, those who helped build the Accord and continue to support its history and tradition. We have a busy month ahead of us. Events are scheduled for most nights and I encourage everyone to partake. Please do not hesitate to ask the staff, if you have specific needs. I look forward to pursuing another year of peace between our families.” I spare a look at Abigail who has retreated to her seat and am relieved to see her approving smile.

A woman wearing a dark somber dress with a pale face and a solemn expression as though she had just left a funeral. She was one of the few females among the men in suits. One more mystery. She was probably just aware that she was trapped in a generational photo album featuring a number of human-sized gargoyles but who was she and why did she look so completely miserable? I leaned back against my pillows and sighed in frustration. It was hopeless. I discovered less the more I dug. It was similar to using a sieve to scoop water. The Crimson Order was an omnipresent force that left no distinct imprint it was a ghost in the machine. Nevertheless I was aware. Something shady was going on in this

It was a ridiculous thought. Why would Alpha Krimson, of all people in this world, be lonely? Moreover, Krimson hadn't arrived at the party alone. He had come with this gorgeous blonde woman who was almost as tall as him after wearing high heels and a blood red dress that clung to her body like a second skin. I couldn't even call the woman trashy or slutty, because she wasn't. She was elegant and gorgeous and she fit right next to Krimson…something I'll never be able to do.

Born of three bloods, raised in disguise, The forgotten one will rise. Four princes will hunt, four hearts will claim, But only one will speak her true name. In the academy where lambs are led, The hunter shall become the hunted instead.* My hands trembled as I pushed the journal away. "This is crazy." "This is your destiny," Nana corrected. "And now that you've been selected for Crimson Moon Academy, it's begun." "I won't go," I said firmly. "I'll refuse. I'll run away."

I left some of the wounds bandaged as I also treated the bruises on my face. I inhaled deeply, hoping it would help ease the pain for just a few minutes. My body remained stationary in the same position for a while before the pain subsided, and I was able to stand up, returning the first aid kit. Opening the second cupboard revealed an impressive collection: emerald green, black, champagne, ruby red, and pale blue dresses, each uniquely crafted with luxurious fabrics, intricate details, and dazzling embellishments.

Her hair was a river of shadows — black with hints of violet and wine - red gloss, curling like dark lava alive with promise and warning. She created chaos and destruction in the mortal world like a shadow slipping through cracks — silent, unseen until everything shattered around her. She whispered promises to greedy hearts, her beauty a weapon sharper than any blade. Mortals fell for it every time. Their eyes locked onto her like moths to a flame, drawn by the impossible allure of her face — too perfect, too captivating to be real. They didn't see the poison beneath the skin, didn't sense the hunger twisting in her smile.

He had known all along that their family was tied to something supernatural, something dangerous. The journal revealed the existence of a hidden society.—The Crimson Circle—a secretive group that operated in the shadows, monitoring supernatural activity and protecting the balance between realms. Her parents had been members, tasked with guarding a powerful artifact that kept the veil intact. But there was more. Lysandra flipped to a page where her father had drawn a detailed family tree. Her name was connected by a red line that spanned centuries. At the bottom of the page, her father had written: You are the last of the line, Lysandra. The prophecy is tied to you. When the time comes, you m

Regardless, she waited for me to step away from the crystallised Max before she set to work. Masika placed several candles around Max, then used chalk to draw several strange symbols all connected to the crystal. Once she had finished that, she held out her hand and slit her palm just enough to draw blood. Each drop she put atop the symbol she had drawn. Finally, she shifted back into her true form and plucked a feather from her tail. She seemed to hate this part most of all, however; she continued with the ritual and held the feather near the crystal in her talon. Turning to me, Masika then said, “make a small enough hole so that I can place this on his skin. The ritual needs this touching

The crimson dress she wore seems to dance gracefully in a Mephisto Waltz in mid-air. “If you’re not my mother, then who are you?” Rozelyn was growing impatient. “You’re asking the wrong query, darling. ‘What are you?’ is more accurate.” Her smirk was even more vicious and infuriating. Rozelyn seems to undergo her ‘internal screaming’ moment. Is this a banshee? She…no, It. It was wearing a crimson lace dress, just like Visenna’s dress when her father proposed to her biological mom. But a banshee has a deafening, continuous shriek. This entity seems to not shriek or wail or weep at all.