The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

We talked about work, or just enjoyed each other's company. Suddenly, the foreman yelled, "Odette! Someone's here for you!" I looked where he pointed. A figure stood at the foggy edge of the site. He walked closer slowly. My blood instantly froze. Dorian. Five years had passed. He looked awful. His once perfect face was now gaunt. His once-piercing eyes were now sunken pits of exhaustion and despair. He looked like a ghost lost for centuries. A deathly sorrow clung to him like a shroud.

Until he catches sight of one of her eyes poking through the glass of a picture frame that’s covered in dust and mould. He fights the urge to clean the glass, and turns the frame around to open the back. He carefully pulls the photo out. It’s a bit mouldy and there’s what looks like water damage too. What has this thing been through? He looks at the two figures in the picture. There’s an older woman, with long curly grey hair and a lot of soft wrinkles. She has a nice face, a long nose and big almond shaped bright blue eyes that looked like they might be glowing. A Witch then.

"I don't care what the council said. Open the cell." They exchanged glances, then one moved to unlock the heavy door at the end of the corridor. The cell was small. Dark. A single barred window let in weak moonlight. Dorian sat on the narrow cot, hands clasped between his knees. He looked up when the door opened. He looked older. Gray streaked his hair, and deep lines carved his face. But his eyes—those were the same. Cold. The eyes of a man who'd dedicated his life to hunting my kind.

“My God, you look horrible.” “Thank you,” I tried to smile, but what came out was a grimace, my lips refusing to form anything other than a frown of sadness. We entered the living room. Eloise immediately looked around, her perceptive eyes catching every detail. The coffee table still had the magazine Dorian had been leafing through. His favorite armchair, by the window, was empty. The picture frames, once scattered across the shelves, still displayed the same photos of us both—a collage of a life that no longer existed.

dream of form in days of thought'—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad—for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty—his merely visible presence—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in it all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body—how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void. Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You

I said smiling and looking straight into his eyes And at that moment, the scene of Dorian smiling down at me In my pool of blood resurfaced in my mind as I became so angry Not realizing I was giving Roman worried glances making him wonder what had been playing in my head Soon rather than later, the ceremony was over as I exhaled on getting over accepting a proposal I wasn't interested in And soon the guests made their way out one after the other all in wait for the big day My big day actually On getting to my room, I lay on my bed as I had my eyes closed from the day’s stress When I heard a knock on the door “Who's there?” I asked still feeling scared from all that happened with Dorian, Lily

Dorian shrugged as he began strolling towards the front door, waving a hand in dismissal as he disappeared from the mansion. The princess watched as the feral man left, her uneasy feeling remaining as she pulled at the leather collar around her neck. She took a long breath, shaken by Dorian’s show of insanity. Elika glanced over at the dark lord, quickly lowering her eyes as he turned towards her; taking a long draw of his cigarette.

The top buttons of his shirt were open, he looked tired, black circles dominated his under eyes. He put the note in his pockets and ran a hand in his already messy hair. And then he smiled. Ozymandius smiled. His smile was the most unusual thing ever. But it looked good. I saw him turn his back to me, as he moved towards the curtains opening them, letting the sun's rays shine on him. "You know, I can sense you tesoro" he said after a moment of long silence. No he is not talking about me, I reminded myself.

Laurel pointed to the man flanking on the left of the emperor. His hair was grey instead of yellow with golden eyes. Through the tight suit that the men wore, she could see that they were muscular. "That one is my mate, Dorian. He's cute, isn't he?" she exclaimed. Ellis gave the man a glance and wondered which part of him was cute. He looked like a cat, a terribly scarred and abused cat. Well, she thought. Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.