The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

And somewhere deep inside the shadows, even Dorian smiled. Not because he’d won. But because flame had returned Not as war. But as grace.

"What a pretty portrait! Shouldn't have expected any less from Misty, honestly. This is probably a birthday gift from her, so take it." My soul was watching nearby, and I was so nervous that my fists curled into balls. 'Take it! Didn't you want to find the person who murdered your father? That portrait's the clue!' In my anxiety, I didn't expect my boyfriend to suddenly flare up in anger, grabbing the portrait and tearing it to shreds. "She wants me to forgive her with trash like this? What a joke! I felt nothing but disgusted!" I instinctively tried to catch the torn portrait, but my translucent fingers passed through the rubbish bin. After a while, I realized.

"And then we kissed on your birthday and I swear I tried to be good, but in the Wilde, Wilde words of Oscar... 'The only way to get rid of a temptation'—" "'Is to yield to it,'" I finished 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' quote and her eyes widened. "I read it twice and listened to an audiobook copy, but I don't get it. You need to explain the symbolism to me 'cause I'm hopeless." "Before this moment, I was sure that I wanted to keep you... But now, I'm super sure," she told me, smiling wide. "I know a lot of people nowadays find Wilde problematic, but the guy has a way with words. And yeah, I truly believe in separating the art from the artist."

I covered my mouth, realizing the sins we both committed in my room. What have you done, Julianna? How could I have been this shameless? I felt really guilty. Trying not to have those thoughts affect my head, I made my way toward where I remembered would be the entrance. “Are you sure? She really did that? You really have to stop, Chris…” From where I stood, I squinted my eyes, seeing a woman seated on the counter, and next to her stood Professor Grey. His upper part was naked. He had a cigarette in his hold.

"Make it eight, then." Luana's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Guess I'll just... shut up then." The car pulled away, headlights slicing through the night, leaving Clarissa alone with her mounting fears. At the villa entrance, a tall and straight figure leaned casually against a car door. Between Dorian's slender fingers was a cigarette, its curling smoke veiling his angular face. His thick lashes cast deep shadows beneath his eyes in the dim streetlight. A white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealed the sharp clavicle of his neck, sleeves rolled to expose pale, snow-like skin.

Something about that look made my heart beat furiously. I watched Gray reach into his pockets and pull out a small picture from it. He raised the picture up for the crowd to see and a look of shock ran through the faces of all that could get a clear view of what it was. “What is that?” I couldn't help but ask as we couldn't see it well from where August and I stood. “I don't know, but whatever it is, it's not nice.” At that moment, Gray turned around to show us the picture. The moment my gaze landed on it, my blood which had turned cold before became ice.

The fire in Amalia’s hearth had burned low, throwing amber light across the carved beams. Shadows curled in the corners of the room, heavy with the scent of pine and smoke. Dorian sat at the edge of the long bench, shoulders hunched, his hands clasped so tight together it looked as if he were holding back the world.

“But you survive because of me.” Adrian snarled, shoving her back. She slid with the grace of someone who had trained her entire life for this moment, landing light, balanced, ready. “Do you know why I wear gray?” she asked suddenly, circling him. Adrian’s jaw tightened, blood dripping down his arm. He didn’t answer. “Because it is the color of hunger,” she murmured, voice low, almost intimate. “Never black, never white. Always in between. Always consuming.” Her eyes darkened. “Like my obsession with you.”

She spelled it out like she was soothing a toddler about to throw blocks at the wall. And the spoiler? It didn’t work. “How can I calm down when my FUCKING portraits are gone?!” I roared. And then, a throat was cleared. Both Alexandra and I turned toward the door. And there he was—Dorian, standing there like a guilty puppy. His hands raised behind his head, tugging at his bandage like it was a crown of thorns. And when he spoke… oh, dear God. “As for the portraits,” he said, in a tone too casual for a funeral. “So sad I noticed the ones of us weren’t there. So… I got rid of yours, Sweetheart.”

Erica insisted this dress had to make an appearance on Spanish streets, but the garden would do. Someone obviously forgot to pack my hair straightener so curly hair it is. I went downstairs and before heading out I took a look at the living room, the walls were full of diplomas for Alessandro and Andrea Benavente. Alongside many pictures of Alessandro riding horses, fencing, and even playing chess. It did look like what I imagined the rich kid growing up would be. Over the fireplace was a painting of Alessandro, next to him people I assume were his parents and his sister. Seeing how my stomach started protesting I decided to find Alessandro, he was having breakfast by the pool a table set un