The Sweetness Of Forgetting Book Novels & Stories

"You didn't forget." "Of course not," he smiled. Across the room, Soren watched quietly. He said nothing, as he always did. But something had begun to change. It became clearer after a brief conversation with Bruno one day. "Funny," Bruno said casually. Soren glanced at him. "What is?" "I don't remember your father bringing home gifts when you were younger." Soren frowned slightly. "He was busy." "I'm sure he was," Bruno replied, his tone light. "Maybe he's just trying to make up for what Lana lost."

Not hatred. Only loneliness. "I've waited longer than stars have existed." "I've watched every version of you." "I watched you become a king." "A prisoner." "A Keeper." "An Author." "And every single time..." "...you forgot me." The words struck Adrian harder than any weapon. Forgot... Again. Always forgetting. The room began shaking. The walls dissolved into endless darkness. Outside... countless stars blinked out together. One after another. As though someone was erasing the night itself. The White Book suddenly appeared beside Adrian.

Even the few accomplishments I was allowed to take credit for had been forgotten in an instant, as if erased from memory. And for every failure of his that I had quietly taken responsibility for, no one remembered or acknowledged my sacrifice. He had kept me by his side all this time not out of love but because I was efficient. Because he couldn’t afford to lose control over someone like me—someone who worked for him without question, without reward or freedom.

She says curiously. “I don’t think they could if they wanted to. I’ve been spelled. This bracelet is a protection charm.” he flashes a bracelet hidden by magic. “Can I see that?” She asks “I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that” she says. “Sorry” he shakes his head no. “That's all I got of her” he sighs before getting up. “Leaving again?” She asks playing with his glass of wine before chugging it. “Yeah, I'm gonna try to find some research on spells for memory. Hell maybe I’ll even find a witch who can actually do it” his words cut through her like a knife. So bitter yet so sweet. What made him so heartless she thinks to herself.

And the timing tonight, of all nights, felt like a deliberate punch to the gut. I told myself to delete it and ignore it. But a dozen small moments from the last few weeks flashed in my mind. Thoughts of Barry answering calls in the other room, working late without results to show, pulling away when I touched him in bed, and laughing at a text he wouldn’t let me see, filled my mind. I should have gone straight to his office. Instead, I found myself heading for the elevator. When I reached the top floor, the corridor smelled faintly of expensive cologne and

But I won’t be a pawn anymore. I’m done playing. I won’t beg. I won’t chase. He can act like I never existed— Then I’ll show him what real forgetting looks like. Not just pretending. Erasing. It’ll hurt. God, it’ll hurt. But I didn’t survive all those sleepless nights, all that heartbreak, just to hear in the end: "I don’t even remember you." No. Now I will forget. And this time… completely.

then why when I try to forget it the memory actually attacks me strongly. Unfortunately, every time I think about Uncle Paul, the center of my body will definitely throb strongly wanting to be released. "Hah...." My breath sounded so heavy. I stopped my shower and went to my room. Changed clothes and dried my hair until it was half dry. After that I lay on the bed. Maybe just by sleeping I can get rid of Uncle Paul in my mind. Come on, Grace! Forget everything! ****

She held me as if she would never let go. I could feel my own pulse quicken, my small wolf inside me stirring at the memory. The bitterness of the candy wasn’t just taste—it had been poison, something hidden in the sweetness. I hated myself for forgetting it at first, hated that I had been fooled by someone I had trusted. But more than that, I hated the way it had hurt my mom, the way it had put everyone in danger.

‎And standing there in the darkness, I realized healing and forgetting were not the same thing. ‎I was healing. ‎Slowly. ‎Painfully. ‎Honestly. ‎But forgetting Mikhail Romanov? ‎That was something I wasn't sure I'd ever learn how to do.

I choked out, the taste of copper filling my mouth. Another flash. The marking ceremony. I felt the phantom sensation of my teeth sinking into her shoulder, the rush of her essence mixing with mine, the gold thread of fate snapping into place, binding us soul to soul. I buried her three years ago. The lie tasted like ash. The memories of the funeral, the grief, the empty coffin—they were painted in grey, dull and flat compared to the Technicolor brilliance of the memories flooding back now. The funeral was a movie I had watched. The meadow... the mating... the night we made love under the stars... that was real.