The Gaslight Effect Novels & Stories

, I remembered the table full of papers, so I asked her, "I came here... Am I interrupting your work?" But what could I do? All I can do when I'm already dead is turn the lights off, turn the books over, and clean up the dust - I'm just now realizing how utterly incompetent I am when I'm dead. Getting more and more anxious and panicked, I suddenly remembered the last time I scared away the man Maleah brought with her, and being sick and incompetent, I planned to do it again by following the same pattern. Turning my head sideways, I used my so-called "power of thought" to turn on the light that had just been turned off by the gentleman. With a click, the living room was brightly lit again. Bu

“Ha ha ha. I don’t know if you’re this weak. My brothers are stronger.” He sharply raised his head and glared at her. Good, she successfully gathered his attention. “They managed to land a hit on my arm, at least. Never in my entire life thought that you were worse than them. Laughable.” Oh yes, gaslighting. Her favorite premise. Crunch! He crunched the molar teeth, soaking into that insult. The poison unknowingly spread inside him. Without realizing it, Shadow had stabbed him with her poisonous dagger. “Hahahaha. You make me go crazy, Shadow!”

Zane snarled, eyes full of rage. “When will you stop with the manipulation? Do you really think you can gaslight me or that I'll believe a word that you say? The mere sight of you makes me want to shift and tear you apart. The both of you are more malicious than I thought and since you won't come clean on your own, I'll have to show evidence of your sin.”

Although I was still upset at Raphael, the hatred I was feeling before was completely gone. The Darkness's influence lingered in my mind, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it had manipulated my emotions, amplifying every negative sentiment until it became almost unbearable. Anger, grief, despair, and fury… all these feelings had been magnified, distorted, and twisted to serve The Darkness's sinister purposes. Its presence had been a constant catalyst, fueling my pain and nudging me toward destructive choices. And it worked, exploiting my vulnerabilities with devastating precision.

And he came to me, near me. It is a coping mechanism, not love. You have Stockholm Syndrome. I scoffed internally. I didn’t have Stockholm Syndrome. This was my life, not a movie. He cared about me. He had held me, fed me, calmed me. He is manipulative, cunning. It was his plan. He’s gaslighting you. He has you where exactly he wants you to be, Aria. I ignored the voice in my head and stared at Fabiano. He was just a few inches away from me, staring into my eyes.

“None of you get to live! Die with me!” The once-arrogant George, who had always looked down on me, had barely any confidence left in him at that moment. When he saw all the blood on the floor, his face went paper-white. “Madwoman! You’re a madwoman! You’ve gone insane! “Dear, you saw that, right? She’s crazy! She’s talking nonsense!” Catherine was the first to react to the situation. She quickly called an ambulance. “Yelena, don’t be scared. I’m here. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.

A choked, pathetic gasp rose in my throat, and I slapped both of my hands over my mouth, biting down hard on my own knuckles until I tasted copper to keep from screaming. All the gaslighting, all the cruel comments about my weight, all the times he called me paranoid, crazy, and ungrateful—it was all a lie. I wasn't insane. I wasn't making up ghosts. I was just a woman being systematically destroyed by a man who was giving his devotion to someone else. The little LED indicator on the door handle beeped, turning a bright, glowing green. Mark pushed the heavy mahogany door open, his hand remaining clamped firmly around the woman's thin waist, dragging her into the room after him. He didn't eve

“They said I forgot Saint’s birthday. I didn’t. I planned everything. I just… couldn’t remember where I put the decorations. I know they were here.” “The nanny told John I forgot to pick Saint up. I didn’t. I got there early. They said I imagined it. I was there. I held his lunchbox.” Gaslighting. Systematic. Cruel. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Because I had lived this, too. With Smith. Being told I was imagining things. That the messages I found weren’t proof. That my gut was “paranoia.” That I was “dramatic” for crying. That the betrayal was somehow my fault.

Occasionally, there were very tragic cries or mournful moans, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of scenes from a horror movie. Laura was small but brave, not feeling afraid, but also feeling a bit eerie. There were large patches of moss on the walls on both sides, emitting a poisonous gas. The gas was not light; Laura could tell it was a nerve gas, specifically designed to make people mentally sluggish. This gas mainly broke down people's willpower, letting them act recklessly while in a haze. Laura's eyes turned cold as she reached into her waist pouch and swallowed a red pill, then continued forward. Before long, she officially entered the prison, where eight tall, sharp-eyed men were gua

I shook my head because her theatrics never failed to amuse me any day. "What do you mean for what?" Vanessa snapped with furrowed brows. I rolled my eyes. "You pushed me down the stairs and made me lose my baby, Lydia!" She snapped. Here she comes. The gaslighter. "You should be on your knees right now asking for my mercy and suggesting how you will atone for your grievous sins." I quirked a brow. "Mercy? Atonement?" Her lips drew into a fine line. "Yes. What will you do to take away the guilt of being a child murderer Lydia?"