The Monk A Romance Novels & Stories

Though it might seem brutal to outsiders, locals believed it to be an act of compassion, an ultimate gesture of returning to nature, and a noble end to one's journey. It was their unique way of understanding life and death. The monk asked again, "Would you like to witness it?" Marisol shook her head. "I wouldn't want to intrude." The monk smiled gently and changed the subject with ease. "Then tell me, on this journey… have you found the answers you were searching for?" Marisol froze. She stared at the red-robed monk in front of her, and for a moment, all sounds seemed to fade away. It was as if only the two of them remained in the world.

He was wearing a tan leather coat and a pair of burgundy oxford shoes that stood out along with a classic hat. “It has been a while since we met in person, Stefan.” The man politely greeted him as he removed his hat to show his balding hair. “Signore Monterri, it has been a while, indeed.” He politely greeted him. The two man exchanged handshake and each of them took their seat. There were only few men in this world capable of making Stefan act with the utmost respect and this man was one of those few. He was Roberto Monterri. The man known as the Miracle Maker. However, the miracles were nothing spiritual. He was more of a godfather than anything.

Andrew bowed upfront of him and then left the place. Just as they left the place, old monk opened his eyes, but this time there was something different in these eyes. His eyes were burning red and the pupil inside changed its colour to golden. Only his eyes are so scary that once if someone saw it, the person will get nightmare for whole month. Monk moved towards a big mirror and saw himself in that, then he started removing his shirt. The moment he removed his shirt, in the mirror a face appeared that was attached with his tummy.

They were round, the frame carved from beautiful moonstone, polished to a gleaming gray, and fitted with a round, gray wooden door that opened in one piece, upward, like the rising moon. “So much for your nap,” I said to Theo. Nothing about this place suggested comfortable sleeping accommodations. “It’s okay. They have all sorts of space here for visitors and pilgrims. I’m sure there’s a room where I can rest.” “Greetings.” A monk greeted us with a bow as we entered. “Hello,” I greeted him in return. “My name is Elena, and we’re looking for a particular monk. Maybe you can help us.” He bowed his head and waited for me to continue.

Fucking disgusting men! The Duke turns his attention back to the two men, letting the grieved father tell his story. The monk snorts, "Not my problem," after the peasant father described the battered and bleeding body of his daughter the day she limped home from the fields, naming the monk as the perpetrator. The Duke signals to the monk to talk and listens to the monk's bullshit version of the story. You know? "She tempted me, and I was unable to fight against her seductive charms."

He was my home. He pressed his forehead to mine, his whisper a gentle murmur of words I didn’t fully comprehend but felt completely. French words that flowed from his lips like poetry. “Mon coeur… ma vie… mon âme.” My heart… my life… my soul. Every word sent a shiver through me, melted me, convinced me of a love so strong it could conquer anything. I whispered back, brokenly, trying to match him: “I am yours. Only yours. Always.”

That was why in a fraction of a second, he had already cursed this stupid monk more than a million times in his mind. "You bald headed procrastinator! If you wish to suicide, don't take us all with you!" Gideon screamed his divine senses into the hardheaded monk. But the monk appeared to listen not to any foul voice upon his ears. He shrugged the evil whispers out and ignored them with immense ease. "Why so?" Maru said. He had never seen this old monk in his life before but was amazed at the righteous dao that flowed out from this person. He was a rather ordinary old man outside but that would only be with the eyes of mortals.

The room was quiet, with only the sound of the occasional footsteps echoing in the background. Penelope and Yvonne sat down on one of the hospital beds, facing each other. Penelope couldn't help but feel nervous. She had never seen her mother this quiet before. Yvonne was usually very talkative, but now she was sitting in silence, staring blankly ahead. Penelope wondered what was going through her mind. **** Alpha Uther stood outside the Packhouse, surveying the aftermath of the battle. The once green and lush grounds were now littered with the bodies of his fallen warriors. He felt a deep sense of disgust as he gazed upon the sight, his mind consumed with thoughts of revenge.

She felt good. The wine helped to improve her mood. But it muddled her thoughts. She deserved a little giddiness now and then. Besides, Blake was here to protect her. A monk entered the room and moved a chair to the center of the empty floor. His robes were especially fluidic as he moved. The others’ robes did not billow as he did. He sat down in the chair and cleared his throat. “Prepare yourself for a treat,” Blake whispered to her. “It’s storytime.”

Sleeping with a total stranger was not something I have ever done, and sleeping with a man for a job or money, hell no. I am broke, annoying and pretty stupid sometimes, but then I have my dignity and would never allow myself be insulted. I would never forget that producer, I often see him in my dreams. I would beat him up and made him regret being alive. But that was in my dreams, whenever he didn't appear in my dream, I would think about beating him up before getting up from the bed. "Beautiful" I muttered as I looked at how gorgeous I looked. I stood up and went straight to the kitchen. My mum was making breakfast, and my siblings looked like they just finished cleaning the house.