The Picture Of Dorian Gray Novels & Stories

I picked up the photograph and looked at it more closely. Something about the woman's face was familiar. I walked to the study and found Dorian working at his desk. "Dorian," I said. "Who is this?" He looked up and took the photograph from me. His face went pale. "Where did you find this?" he asked and his voice was sharp. "On the mantle," I said. "I have never seen it before." Dorian stared at the photograph and his hands were shaking. "That is my grandmother," he said. "My father's mother. The woman who adopted Mary Vale."

I continued following them silently, staying tucked behind the high, trimmed hedges. Up ahead, near the grand marble fountain, Dorian was talking animatedly, waving his hands as he told some ridiculous story. I gritted my teeth as Scarlett let out a light, genuine laugh at his silly jokes. They came to a halt right by the edge of the trickling water. “Here…” Dorian said smoothly. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small, polished velvet box, flipping it open to reveal a shimmering diamond hairpin. “I saw it and thought it’d look absolutely beautiful on you.”

Instead, they felt like a simple recognition of something I had already decided. "I know." I leaned back in the chair and let my head rest against the wood. The tension of looking at Cyrus's wrecked face started to drain out of my shoulders. "I needed to see the proof with my own eyes. The rumors and the reports weren't the same as holding the image and feeling none of the old devotion. It's finished. Truly finished." Dorian stayed standing near the table. The storm in his eyes was quieter than usual, replaced by something that looked almost like relief. "The letter will have made the crack in him deeper. This portrait won't make it easier. He's running out of comfortable stories to tell him

The exhaustion beneath his eyes was little compared to what his body spoke. The lecture hall was already half full when he slipped inside. Soft murmurs drifted through the room as students settled into their seats. Rabbit took his usual place near the front but close enough to hear clearly, far enough to avoid attention. He laid out his notebook with meticulous precision. Top left corner: date. Centered title: ENG 342 — Gothic Literature. Beneath it, he wrote neatly: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde He paused, staring at the words. A story about beauty.

I'm the bait. Dorian smiles down at the vial. For a second his fangs extend — then retract. "Not yet," he whispers. "I can't taste your blood yet." He presses a plaster over the cut and seals the vial, admiring the crimson liquid a moment before tucking it into his pocket. Dorian leaves without a word, without so much as a backward glance. The moment the door closes behind him, my mind is racing — my thoughts rushing like a mountain stream forced through a narrow gorge.

I gasped slightly as Dorian's and mine pictures were displayed on the screen. The pictures were not photoshopped, they were authentic but the light in which they were displayed was very well-planned. They were mainly of me hugging Dorian in the library or at the campus or the night when we ate ice cream. The pictures were not very clear and seemed like they were taken from the CCTV footage. The council member asked me, "Do you agree that it is you and Dorian Smith?"

“I fear war is upon us.” “We just don't know what game they are playing.” He replied. What is Dorian Gray of Grimshade pack up to?

Just a few more, and I would have my release reaching the clouds… “Dirty girl…you want to cum, huh? Not yet.” Christian pulled away, leaving me gasping and needing to be filled. “Please, Professor Grey…please suck on me.”

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.