Timeless River Sora Novels & Stories

But suddenly. “Mommy, Daddy.” A cry from a little girl echoes right in front of him and from the other end of the bridge. The night that is deep and quiet makes the crying echoes. The burning cars in front of them and the smell of intoxicating burns are raising. He stops crying, now pitying the little girl that just got his attention. He turns his gaze in front and saw the little one dressed in red, full of wounds, and crying hard. Her cheeks are red from crying and her nose seems to swell because of the same reason. The lights from the bridge made him see her clearly, or perhaps he is only seeing himself from her.

He walked off to the bedroom, leaving her standing there with his release dripping down her thigh. Sora Robbins, twenty-eight years old, stared at her reflection in the hallway mirror. The woman looking back at her had beautiful dark hair, full lips, and soft, generous curves that men on the internet called “goddess-like.” But in her real life, those same curves were weapons used against her. She didn’t know how much longer she could survive this. --- The next morning at Blackwood Corporation, Sora tried to bury herself in work. As a senior assistant in the marketing department, she was good at her job — organized, quiet, and reliable. But today her mind kept drifting.

The thick layer of mountain mud was gone, but the scars on her face were as red and angry as ever, and she still wore her leather armor like a second skin. "It’s the wolf in me, Sora," I said, smoothed down the front of my dress. It was a deep, velvet green, the color of the pine needles in the heart of the Blackwood forest. It was heavy, warm, and far too expensive for a woman who had spent the last month sleeping on stone floors. "Besides, Killian doesn't seem to mind the smell." Sora snorted, walking into the room with that silent, predatory grace that made the Ghost Pack so terrifying. She stopped in front of me, her good eye scanning my face. She reached out, her rough, calloused thumb

Sora closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and shifted as he exhaled. Ezra gasped when he saw Sora in his true form. Sora's scales were cream, tan, and gold, with charcoal gray accents along his spine and down the length of his tail. He was the color of a royal Omega Dragon, the same color as his Dad's dragon.

Caroline, a she-wolf who has been considered a monster since she was a child, can she break the tragedy spell and find her MATE?

He sat back down on his desk and his attention was on me. “There was a river connected to the waterfalls where Sayori fell. It’s up north and it’s the only way for our men to enter the base of the waterfall. I thought of it and maybe there’s a possibility that Sayori washed up somewhere up north and someone found her. What do you think?” I said. Sora looked intently at me and slowly nodded.

She croaked and began to wail. “Come on, baby. She’s okay. She’ll be okay, I promise.” He retorted. ___________ River happened to stumble in a bar when she became thirsty. She had been walking around taking pictures of wooden sculptures of creatures and human figures for a good hour and a half. She had already fallen in love with the small town and the breeze that flowed at night. Even during the day, it didn’t feel as hot and humid as in Texas. It was the opposite.

A dense patch of water lilies floated across the surface of the pond, their broad leaves glistening beneath the golden glow of the lanterns, casting soft reflections that shimmered like a dream. Sora sat beneath the wooden pavilion, her chin resting lightly in one hand, eyes drifting over the lily-covered water. Whether she was admiring the view or lost in thought, it was hard to tell. After a quiet moment, she reached over and plucked a few idle notes on the harp resting beside her. Whether it was because she didn’t know how to play or simply didn’t care, the resulting sound was jarring and harsh. Sora’s face curled into a sneer. Her fingers tapped the harp absentmindedly a few times before

The spring that followed the solstice brought a message from the eastern provinces. It arrived not by letter, but by witness—a young woman named Sora who had trained at the House of Gold Flowers and had traveled for three weeks to reach the Academy. She came through the garden gate at dusk, her face weathered from the road, her hands cupped around a small pot containing a cutting from the great gold flower at the relay site. "The fourth bloom has opened," Sora said, kneeling before the stone bench. "Elara sent me to tell you. The watcher's attention at the relay site is stronger than ever. The witnesses say the flower is speaking—not in visions, in words. Actual words."

Sara thought to herself, One of the shack flaws was it lack of water system, The only way to bath properly was in the river otherwise it was a wet towel or nothing, taking of her clothes, she walked into the cold water while squeaking happily. Busy washing her body, Sara failed to notice the sharp grits and the irregular depths, she was too engrossed in enjoying the cold water and chasing the fish while rubbing her silky white skin, Enjoying her private moment of innocent naughtiness and liberty, where she did as she pleased, She felt a desire to soak herself in the water, so she did, she took a deep breath closed her eyes and dived into the water. It was perfectly peaceful and calm, and Sar