The Picture Of Dorian Gray 소설 & 이야기

If he had done a search, he could have gotten even more within a few minutes. The next thing Dorian clicked on was a picture that looked like a beautiful red rose. However, when you click on specific areas of the image, it opens up a file. The first one showed a beautiful young blonde woman. As they clicked through the pictures, they saw Jon and the woman having sex. Although on closer inspection, it looked as though it was rape and not consensual.

In a dimly lit roOm far from the Grayson estate, a woman’s hand trembled as she brushed the edge of a silver picture frame. With a pained, guttural sob, she pressed the frame face-down onto the mahogany desk, as if she couldn't bear to let the eyes in the photo witness what came next. She picked up a beautifully crafted, lifelike doll sitting nearby, straightened her silk dress, and opened the door to face the world.

Dorian sighs, a mix of boredom and disdain. “Fools, always so stubborn,” he mutters, and a spark of something far darker, far more unsettling, flickers in his eyes. “Fine. What you have is your ruin. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you can’t escape what awaits you.” With a sharp gesture, Dorian turns and begins to fade into the darkness. But before he disappears, he stops briefly, throwing us one last look heavy with menace. “We’ll meet again soon,” he says, his words hanging in the air, heavy and foreboding.

Finally getting to the top, she comes to stand next to him. He lifts the lantern to shine light over the wall, exposing old paintings. Very old. Portraits of men with long, braided hair. Some have mustaches, some have only shoulder-length hair, while others fall to their backs. But all of them have the familiar colour in their hair and their eyes. Silver-grey. Troy's breath catches as she looks closer. “Dorian, what’s this?” He steps forward to light more paintings along the wall. The oldest one looks so ancient that you can't see his face anymore. He sits with tribal necklaces around his neck and around his head. The paper is made out of ancient scabs of leaves…or something.

Dorian cannot turn away what he has done to people. My heart thrashes with expectation as a black luxury vehicle pulls up across the street. Dorian leaves, dressed in a black suit, his face incomprehensible—but I know him too well. His shoulders are too stiff, his motions too exact. He is already on tight alert. Superior. I watch him cross the street, but another man walks up to Bianca's table just before he gets to the door. Short. Blonde. Beautiful in a playboy type of manner. He stooping down whispers something in her ear. Bianca puts her hand on his knee and smiles—a seductive, private smile. Perfect on cue. As Dorian stands still staring at them, I can almost feel his wrath. Then he bur

His fingers still wore the shades of red and black colours, while tiny drops of white and gold, glinted off the backpack he had scrapped off the floor, just a few minutes after Yvette's text. He tilted his head to the brick wall he stood before, and stared a few seconds at the half finished painting. He had managed the upper half of the skull with tiny rose petals floating over it, but the lower jaw was missing. The top had its complete set of gold lined smirking teeth, which among those was a fang soiled in mostly red and part gold. A second of satisfactory smile smeared on his face and disappeared, as he grabbed tighter the straps of his backpack, and picked his way to the location Yve had

She turned to Dorian but the man just stood still, staring blankly,his eyes looked distant,same look he had earlier when he was looking at that wolf back at the farmhouse,was he thinking? Few seconds after,a man,dressed in all black, approached them, raising something in his hand, Penelope almost let out a low gasp when she saw the bundle of cash in his hand. Gesturing with his brow,Dorian ordered for him to place the money against the counter and he did so, leaving afterwards. "Will that do?" He asked an oblivious question knowing fully well he was giving well over much more than what the seller asked for. "Take everything,anyone you want"

But as I reached for the last book, my fingers brushed against something stiff and glossy. A framed photograph. My breath hitched in my throat as I pulled it out It was old, the edges curled slightly with time. But the image was clear. Dorian stood there, younger than I had ever seen him, his usual smirk absent from his lips. He looked almost… solemn. Beside him stood a woman. Her dress was plain, almost like a maid’s uniform, but something about her posture, the sharpness in her eyes, told me she wasn’t just a servant.

Then I saw an image of a younger Dorian, with his sharp jawline and fierce eyes, was intimidating, and I couldn't help but feel grateful that I had only met the kinder side of him. But it was the portrait of Lady Maurie that really caught my attention. The painting seemed to come alive, and the woman's twisted smile sent chills down my spine. Her piercing gaze seemed to follow me as I walked down the hall, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was still being watched.

“You don’t want me to leave.” No. He fucking didn’t, he sure as hell didn’t want her to leave! He pushed off the counter, the wooden floors creaking under his deliberate steps as he closed the distance between them. He stopped just behind her, close enough that he could breathe her in vanilla and something deeper, something uniquely her. His fingers ghosted over the book she was holding. The Picture of Dorian Gray. “Do you know what this book is about?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.