روايات وقصص ضمن The Deserted Woman

My gaze plummeted downward, locking onto the source of this disturbing intrusion. There, in the dim light, a figure emerged, crawling laboriously towards me. It was a woman, her presence exuding an otherworldly aura that sent a shiver down my spine. Her pallid complexion gave her an ethereal appearance, accentuated by the disheveled mess of her hair and the stark nakedness of her form. She seemed vulnerable and feeble, her body consumed by a haunting sickness that emanated from within her very core. Desperation etched upon her face, she pleaded for help, her voice trembling with a mixture of anguish and hope. Each agonizing movement brought her closer, inch by painful inch, as she fought aga

Everything and everyone was the same, each pulsing heartbeat matched the other and each body secreted the heady, animal aromas that come from secret places and linger sweetly in the aftermath of desire. Yet there was a sound in the room that Kate couldn’t place. As her breath came more easily, as the stroking hands around her subsided into stillness, the noise seemed louder. Turning her head towards the fireplace, Kate searched for its source. Her befuddled brain refused to take in what she saw — it was as if she were back in Nero’s gallery of hidden desire and private pleasure. For in a chair by the fire sat one of the women in the portraits. Her eyes were closed in a pose of near-religious

They barked orders as though I were a thing, a body…not a woman who had just been pushed down the staircase of her own home by the man she loved. But I couldn’t scream….I couldn’t even blink. I was trapped within myself, silent and still, like a doll whose strings had been cut. Then came the quiet. The ambulance faded and The ER lights vanished. Time lost all meaning in the coma. I floated in a thick, endless, black conscious but disembodied state. Somewhere beyond the black curtain, I heard machines…a faint beeping, the shuffle of rubber soles and soft voices murmuring charts and vitals.

The man who stood there was one of our scouts, his face pale, his breath clouding in the cold air. “What?” I demanded. He hesitated, glancing toward the graves before lowering his voice. “We’ve received word… from the northern outpost. A woman was seen two nights ago crossing the border into the Frozen Wastes.” The wind cut through me like a blade. “Describe her.” “Dark hair. Eyes the color of storm clouds. A face…” He swallowed. “A face exactly like hers.” My heart slammed in my chest. Hope flared, sharp and dangerous. “Was she alone?” I asked.

CHAPTER 10: [And the sparrow sparked a cry; in shambles and chaos that it has never been spared –to peril or to die. ] [PLAYING: Coming to you by Grass] The lights flickered on and off. The pungent smell of blood, flesh and piss took over a dominion that could drove one nauseous. An utter silence envelope the place, walls intricate by cracks and holes. A ruin in display, while boulders were gathered on each corner. There’s a low tip-tap on the roof. A rendered cracked pummelled through that caught droplets of rain, which continue dripping on the floor creating some puddles. The entire room seems bizarre, unlikely and devoid of any soul as it appeared to be abandon for a very long time ago. B

Flying at last. *** Meanwhile, a shape reclines naked and profane upon a great stone chair within the derelict mansion in the woods. It feels the girl’s presence below, senses her meddling: the night music is gone, the buried woman’s sweet torment and titterings ended. No more wails to be had— The feminine form touches herself and shudders deliciously upon her sculpted throne of mortar and bones.

He knocked on the door, and the knobs on the door got unlocked and opened, by the workers on the other side. They looked at me as worked in, eyes filled with lust. I walked down to the servant quarters, using the house layout image that was sent to me beforehand. I stood at the door confused, I heard someone call out for me “Elena?” an older woman with an apron tied to her body asked. She was the head housekeeper. I turned to her “Yes, Elena Whyte.” She kept a straight face as she walked up to me. “Follow me” she commanded as she handed a document to me and went into the room before us.

They were both human, both unconscious, their bodies tangled together in the dust. And standing in the center of the ruin was a woman. She wasn't a Star-Wolf. She wasn't a Goddess. She was an old woman in a tattered red cloak, her skin grey and wrinkled like a dried plum. She was holding a single wooden spoon. "The debt is settled," she whispered, her voice a dry rattle. She looked at me, and her eyes were no longer black holes. They were brown. "But the Nineteenth Name didn't tell you the whole truth, Amara."

The high-resolution screen of Rhys’s tablet cast a cold, sapphire glow over the dark velvet bedding. The automated alert from the compliance network was still flashing, a digital countdown marking the exact speed of Julian Vance’s impending destruction. Elena sat up, the heavy silk sheet slipping down to rest against the curve of her waist. Her skin was still warm, deeply sensitized by the absolute, unyielding possession she had just surrendered to. Yet, the exhaustion that had plagued her for years was entirely gone. Looking at the digital evidence of Julian’s crimes, a profound, icy clarity settled into her bones. The victim had died in the master bedroom of the penthouse; the woman remain