The Thorn That Pierce Me Novels & Stories

I carried them without complaint, but tonight the burden pressed differently, almost suffocating. I brushed my hand against the rough stone wall as I walked, grounding myself. It wasn’t until I strayed closer to the frost-laced hedges that I felt the sting. A thorn, hidden beneath the snow, bit into the back of my hand. I hissed, jerking away, but too late—the sharp sting tore skin, and crimson spilled freely, dripping fat drops onto the snow. “Bloody hell!” I growled, clutching the wound. The sting was actually nothing, just that I got surprised.. but the blood—it fell too freely, splattering against white like roses blooming in winter. “A mere thorn and I am now dripping blood again…”

I let it pour, wetting my shirt as I cried everything out. I Katherine Thawne, has never been hurt this way before. It felt new...and it raw. Indeed, Heartbreak is the father of all prickled needles. TBC

The heavy oak door of the library clicked shut behind Prince Alexander and Sophia, leaving Vivian alone in the cavernous silence. The scent of dust and parchment felt suddenly suffocating. The brief encounter had been a whirlwind of cold assessment, unexpected kindness, and jarring proximity between the protagonists – a stark reminder of the ticking clock. *Tomorrow.* The word echoed, a death knell for her fragile amnesia act and her precarious hold on survival.

Throes of Love Chanel knew everyone had their eyes on her as they had breakfast. She had not said a word and from the way, she sat with her back so stiff and tense. She was sure they knew she was in serious pain. She took the painkillers Anissa silently offered her without showing any emotion on her face. She could tell there was a smirk on Draven’s face. They all seemed to find pleasure in her pain. Before she could take her eyes away from her, Draven spoke.

Carve my heart out? Love, a man is blind from its path. Love, is talking in third person will make you come back? Will the above pity me as they bring you back to me? Walking on the long path, A Rose I held. Clutching it tightly while its thorns pierce my hands. Blood pours as it stains the hand and the flower. Finally, it made a bloody Rose... The pain in my heart was so dominant that I couldn't feel the bruises outside. It reached the core...

Andy’ POV With every step I took, the pain in my heart grew. It was like a fire, burning and consuming me from the inside out. It made my chest ache and made it hard to breathe. The tears that had been pooling in my eyes began to spill over, running down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them; I couldn't even try. I was beyond caring, beyond feeling. I just wanted the pain to end; it seemed like I was swallowed up by the darkness that surrounded me.

It was gone. "What the...." I was shocked, and fear crept into me, "What are you both thinking?" I questioned them and began to move away from them. "Don't!" Elayne warned me. I was not ready to listen. I took a step backwards anyway, and I felt something piercing into my leg immediately. It was by the side. An excruciating pain hit me. It was sharp, and I realised the thorns were all poisonous. No wonder it was called the Garden of Pain.

It sat in my hands and breathed its fast breath and looked at me with the still dark eye. Getting out was harder than getting in. This was the thing about thorns, the curve of them, they let you go one direction and had opinions about the other. My hands were bleeding before I was halfway out. Small cuts, the kind that stung rather than hurt, multiple of them across my palms and the backs of my hands. I got out.

“I am the gravity that holds your light in place. Without me, Winnie, you are just a flare in the void, burning out until there is nothing left but ash.” ​I felt a sharp, cold sting in my chest. I looked down and saw thin violet threads weaving through the golden patterns on my forearms. They weren’t attacking; they were integrating. My skin felt like it was being stitched together by ice. ​“Winnie, don’t let her in!” Thorne’s voice reached me from the perimeter of the room. I could see him through the haze, a silhouette of desperation. He was hacking at the rising obsidian thorns that were encasing the central pedestal, his vibro-blade throwing blue sparks against the impenetrable black gla

"Soccer must keep you in excellent shape. It’s almost a shame I have to break you." He pushed one finger in, then two, his movements clinical yet ruthless. I buried my face in my arms, moaning into the sleeve of my hoodie as he prepared me. The friction was intense, the sensation of being opened up by a man I both feared and worshipped sending white-hot sparks through my brain. "I... I want it," I sobbed. "I want you to break me." "Oh, I’m going to do much more than that," Thorne said. He withdrew his fingers, and for a moment, the absence felt like a void. Then I felt the tip of him, hot and massive, pressing against me.