The Gormenghast Trilogy Novels & Stories

The flames dance before us, casting flickering shadows on our faces, reminding us of the beauty that can arise from the darkest of times. In this circle of love, trust, and unwavering support, we find solace and strength. No matter what life throws our way, we know we can count on each other to lend a listening ear, offer guidance, and provide a shoulder to lean on. As the night comes to a close, we gather our things, the embers of the bonfire fading away. We exchange hugs, feeling the warmth of our connection radiate through our embrace. Walking back to the house, hand in hand with Sarah and Ruth, I am filled with a profound sense of contentment.

After the boys had left my room, I went through my bag and pulled out my favorite book, Night Flame, by Catherine Hart. I sat back in my chair by the window, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon reading when a shiver ran down my spine. I jumped out of my seat and spun around to see a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the corner of the room. As those eyes drew closer to me, I realized that it was Simon, the fae that came to warn me the other day.

Each shifting shadow of a flickering lamp was at the peak of his mind and the the faintest howl of a windy draft was enough to put his heart on edge. He glanced over at Dorcus with his nerves shot and his heart beating rapidly, and he hoped she wouldn't notice his distress. These were not the sort of tasks which he enjoyed, and much less with a partner, someone whose life was in his hand and whose care was entrusted to his own watchfulness. Still, he loved her, and he was thankful to have her with him, even in the dark depths of the mighty fortress where they strode. The door which was left open led into a large room, spacious and plain with stone-cut floors and finished walls without patric

They were midway across the path, in front of a cemetery when suddenly graves started opening. "What is going on?" Isabella asked, clutching onto Chris tightly. Chris was suddenly sweating so furiously but Ariel was cool and her face was blank and devoid of any emotions. They stood there watching six tombs open and six scary-looking ghosts walked out. Isabella was already whitish in appearance knowing who they are. Chris's hairs were all up and his eyes green, his normal sight nature. "GREETINGS TO THE SPECIAL ONE." One of them muttered. "GREETINGS TO THE LITTLE GODDESS." Another muttered.

"What book did you get?" ​"The Name of the Wind," he fills in, his voice instantly losing its strained edge. "It's a fantasy." ​"I would've pegged you more for a horror type of guy," I reply with a raised brow, my surprise evident. "Fantasy would have never crossed my mind." ​"Horror stories aren't realistic enough," he replies, his answer only furthering my confusion. "Nothing really is unless it's a true story. So, I drift toward the complete opposite. I know fantasy isn't supposed to be realistic, so it's tolerable."

their leader screamed, a woman with a face of porcelain and eyes of gold. ​"Hunters in my Keep?" the Demon King snarled, turning his fire toward the new invaders. ​The vault turned into a three-way slaughterhouse. Demons fought Inquisitors. Inquisitors fought Seraphina. And in the middle of it all, a third sound began to rise—a low, rhythmic chanting that made the very shadows on the floor stand up and grow teeth. ​"The Pale King," Arion muttered, his daggers dancing as he cut down a golden hunter. "He didn't stay dead. He’s used the chaos to send his Shadows into the heart of the mountain."

The evening breeze was gentle, carrying the fresh scent of early summer plants growing. In the courtyard below, children laughed and ran around. Elderly residents strolled leisurely. Life flowed on in its most ordinary and solid form. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air. The three months after Arya's death, which had been full of her family's scheming, were like a long, oppressive nightmare. Thankfully, I had woken up. Wounds would scab over, pain would fade, and the lessons I learned would stay with me, making me stronger and wiser going forward. Night fell, and the city lights came on. I went back inside and turned on the lights. Warm illumination instantly filled the ent

At least far more interesting than the story I heard yesterday at the antique auction, is this one, I thought. I became uneasy when he described how two werewolves broke their fated mate promise and unleashed a terrible calamity. The narrative was too visceral and realistic. Every time I hear the story, it seems to tighten my heart, so I don't want to listen to it anymore. It felt odd, as though I had also lived through the same narrative. She continued, "And it all began with the Grimoire." "Grimoire?" I asked, intrigued. This Grimoire seemed to be at the center of all the odd occurrences.

It was like a dead human with the strangest appearance. Elongated nails that were as black as the dark night. A body that seems to be fading she could almost call it a ghost if not for the fact that she was really looking at it. No form of nose, eyes mouth or ears, just a black foggy head. What was it? Suddenly, bright reddish orbs blazed open from the formless head and looked straight at her, spellbinding her that she just couldn't look away. There was a flash of something in its eyes that if she had blinked, she would have missed it.

"They live among us Walk-in our dreams And see right through Our deepest desires They hear our thoughts. And prey on our fears Their soft voices Echo in our minds with promises of forever Darkness falls They heed the call of thirst The night belongs to them Eyes burn red with hunger It's our blood they crave and it's our bloodline They wish to enslave When the birth of a new day Peaks over the horizon And our shadows rise to meet them They retreat to their sanctums And seek solace in dark places In the sun, we find comfort In the light, they disappear They are The Forsaken..." Cadence said the words out loud over and over, trying to make sense of them. After a while, though, she stopped tryi