The Deserted Woman Novels & Stories

Leaves crumbled into gray powder beneath my boots. "What is this?" I breathed, looking around the desolate wasteland. Then... far ahead... a single light flickered. A woman stood beneath an ancient oak. Soft, round, beautiful. She stood beneath the ancient oak, looking soft, round and beautiful. Even before I saw her face... I knew. She wasn't looking at me. She was walking away, her steps silent on the ash. "No..." I forced my throat to open, my legs refusing to move. "Aria!"

Roberto began his clumsy, almost laughable attempt at 'winning me back'. At dawn, when I pulled open the flap of my tent, a bouquet of desert roses lay outside. I picked them up without expression and handed them to a passing local worker. I said, "Give them to your wife. She likes flowers." The next night, close to midnight, an off-key voice shattered the quiet. Roberto stood under the moonlight, holding a crumpled piece of paper and stumbling through what I could only assume was supposed to be a love song.

*Mago’s POV* When I walked up to the bar, I saw Dessa waiting, twisting her hands nervously. She was stunning—quick-witted, magnetic, a woman who could turn heads with a smile, yet she’d chosen to be with women. Her choice worked for me; it made her the perfect decoy, my “girlfriend” to ward off women who couldn’t resist me. And there were plenty—women begging to be with me, trying to claim a piece of me. But I was Mago Concepcion, and I wasn’t the kind of man who settled. I preferred variety, the thrill of tasting something new every night, savoring life like an endless array of fine wine. Why choose one bottle when the world was a cellar, each one offering something different?

I truly thought that all the decent women were no more, but what she did gave me hope. "All the women are the same, you say," Daze scoffed as he rose from the chair. "I'm leaving now. I don't feel like drinking after what I saw," he said and left me alone to sit in the bar. I was absolutely astounded by what I witnessed - a bold and fierce young lady. I found myself intrigued and eager to learn more about her, a feeling that is quite rare for me. Her tone was filled with disdain for men, and her eyes blazed with an intense hatred that left me in awe. It's a shame that I had to dismiss her from my company, as even if I were to offer her a position, her immense pride would have made it unlikel

She clutched a tissue, as if it were an anchor in a sea of the extraordinary. Within an instant, a blaze of gold and flames painted my vision, a radiant spectacle that etched itself onto my mind's canvas. The enigmatic woman, whose very presence defied the bounds of reality, dissolved into the ethereal currents of the beyond. A farewell, shrouded in the brilliance of her existence, marked the end of her earthly sojourn.

Vivienne hovered behind him, offering a soft word and a gentle touch on the shoulder. The sight of him there, small and absorbed, braided with Vivienne's presence, felt like a door closing in slow motion. "Oliver," I whispered, and the sound dissolved against the glass between us. Miss Peterson's eyes flicked up, met mine, and she pressed a palm to her mouth as if to hold back something. I mouthed, I love you, but the letters did not cross the distance. Ellis cleared his throat. "Ms Blackwood. I must ask you to leave now."

Ryan did not confirm nor deny it, but I could tell the truth from the guilty look in his eyes. The scorching summer day in June felt like winter to me. I held my breath in shock. What was I to Ryan, if that woman was his wife? "Stop faking it," the woman taunted me. Then, she went on to introduce me to the onlookers. "Ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at this homewrecker! She snatched my husband from me, and she had the audacity to ask him for an apartment."

It was as if I were looking into a reflection, but one distorted by pain and despair. My heart pounded violently in my chest as I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The woman rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate. She wiped her tears away, but her gaze was distant, hollow, as though every spark of life had been extinguished. Then, without a word, she began walking toward me, stopping just a few steps away. Her lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear. I strained to understand her, but before I could, the force that had kept me locked in place suddenly shifted. It pushed against me, hard, slamming into my chest like a tidal wave.

After the crack of the dawn, William, Olivia and Romos made their way back to the hotel, now sure that the creature was dead. Maxine had already departed feeling depressed as she couldn’t find any links to her son. Now she stood in the corner of an isolated building, not very far from the creek. Suddenly, a woman wearing a white trench coat with red flames on the bottom materialized in front of her. “Good day Maxine,” Maria said. Maxine acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

THE WITCH OF THE WASTE Damian maneuvered the boat alongside the rotting wooden pier. We stepped out. The wood creaked ominously under our weight. The air smelled of herbs, burning plastic, and swamp gas. The figure on the dock didn't move. She was short. Tiny, actually. She wore layers of mismatched rags—silks, wools, and furs sewn together with copper wire. Her hair was a cloud of wild white frizz, stuck with twigs and feathers. She leaned on a staff made from a car's driveshaft, topped with a glowing quartz crystal. She looked like a crazy homeless woman. Until you saw her eyes. They were violet. Sharp, intelligent, and utterly devoid of fear. "You're late," she rasped. Her voice sounded l