The Mist Book Novels & Stories

LOGAN: We have a magical book and all wordings except the spells in the book have inserted themselves in my brain, probably cos it trust me ANYA: Okay so this Misty, what does she do? LOGAN: This (pointed to the fog) Misty causes Mist. The mist isn't poisonous. She uses it as a disguise. She is a master of disguise and this fog is her battle ground. She can turn the fog into any shape she wants. She is dangerous with her fog...but without it, she's not much of a champion. ROSE: So, is there any way we can clear the fog? LOGAN: Not that I know of. But the surest way is to get rid of the her. Get rid of her...you get rid of the fog.

I followed it, as it intent on kicking it again and taking my rage out on this tiny rock, which made me feel foolish but for some reason better, when I realized I wasn’t alone in the small clearing. To my surprise, Mistra was seated on a small iron bench in front of a large lavender bush, hands crossed on her lap. Her eyes were closed, and for as cool as the evening was, was dressed in a light dress and jacket, her dark raven hair disappearing into the night behind her.

Breck was already waiting for me in a black sedan when I went outside. Since many members of the Pack had the same car, I wasn’t worried about anyone knowing it was me. Out of habit, I climbed into the back of the vehicle while Breck drove. We arrived at the library and noticed there weren’t very many people inside. It hadn’t taken long to locate Misty. She was tucked away in a corner, also wearing a hoodie, with her hood pulled over her head. She sat in an oversized bean bag chair with a stack of books around her. I thought about approaching her to find out what she was doing but decided to observe her.

The mist inside him fought, screeching, trying to tear free, but I pulled harder, dragging it out inch by inch. Black smoke spilled from his mouth, his eyes, his very skin. It twisted in the air, shrieking as it formed the shape of a face—eyes hollow, teeth jagged. The boy collapsed, unconscious, as the mist burst free entirely. It shot upward, slamming against the ceiling, then darted toward me. I raised both hands, pouring everything into a cage of light. The mist hit it, rattling the glowing bars, shrieking loud enough to shake the house. The walls groaned, a beam cracked overhead, dust raining down.

“Can you both be quiet?” Misty growled. “You guys can go back to fighting once we’re done here.” She said shaking her head. “We have to get Anabel out of this mess, and I am not sure how.” She said looking down at her book. “I mean we could keep doing the spell, it doesn’t say that it doesn’t work after a while, but I am not sure that is going to work for long.”

A violent tremor threw me onto my side as the stone beneath us split wide, jagged chasms opening like hungry mouths. From the depths of those fissures, a pale silver mist began to swirl. It wasn’t smoke, and it wasn’t steam; it looked like moonlight ground into a fine powder and set to dance. The mist rose in thick, silent plumes, smelling of ozone, cold rain, and a holiness that had been missing from this cursed land for far too long. It was beautiful, but it carried a weight that made the air feel thick and heavy.

The fire still burns brightly, I can still see the wick and it’s the very big kind, wax spilling down its side in large clumps, forming a tiny fire mountain inside the enclosed space. My eyes drop to my dress, and I drag my legs up. The hem of my gown rising to somewhere near where my feet are has turned brown with mud. The fabric laced above my corset is torn, hanging loosely in the stagnant dark. My emotions feel bigger than me, and I don’t know what to do so I stop bothering. Then I don’t know what to think. How did it get this bad all of a sudden? What have I done to deserve such a fate?

most of them hid their identity and even mate with the human, they end up having mixed babies with the blood of a human and a werewolf which is known as a Hybrid. The wind blew lovely air, making street workers put on their cardigans to prevent cold but soon enough an umbrella was visible everywhere as the rain began to pour hard. Few without umbrellas were seen running to prevent being soaked in the rain. Miriam was soaked in tears as the black stain of her eye pencil lingered all over her face, she had no care in whatever situations she was presently in. Her neatly arranged and flowered-looking hair an hour ago now looked a mess. Her wedding dress was torn and drenched in water, she cried

Her mind races through countless interactions, flipping through the pages of her life's chapters, searching for the elusive connection. Yet, despite her efforts, the veil of forgetfulness persisted. She cannot piece together the fragments that would unlock the mystery of their prior encounter. It hovers on the periphery of her consciousness, taunting her with its elusiveness. Vivian's brows furrow slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. She wonders if this could be a mere case of mistaken identity, a trick played by her mind. But deep down, a hunch tells her there is more to this than meets the eye.

Chapter 2: Whispers in the Mist The mist clung to the mountain paths like a soft veil the next morning, softening the edges of the world into that dreamy, high-detail haze Lila had come to associate with their fragile truce. She walked along the neutral riverbank, her braided hair swaying gently beneath the hood of her cream sweater, the fabric still carrying faint traces of last night’s rain. On one side of her thoughts stood the cool blue sadness of duty—her pack’s expectations, the long history of blood between Shadowfang and her own Moonveil clan. On the other, a calm, glowing hope beckoned, like the wise older presence guiding her toward a future she could barely name. The rain had ease