Tokyo Ghoul Stitches Novels & Stories

The stitches are far from professional, but they’ll do the job and close the skin, keeping muscle and tissue on the inside where they belong. Never strangle a man with a knife in his hand is my new motto. He sliced into my side before I could stop him. He’s dead now and I’m alive, so I’ll take it as a lesson learned. Putting up with Gomez’s shit for my stupidity isn’t helping me feel the love as he stitches me up. “Fuck,” he swears as he wipes his bloody hands on a blood-covered cloth. I look down at myself as he readjusts his grip on the large needle. “You can’t do things halfway, can you?” he taunts as the needle punctures my skin again.

The shirt was already ruined, so I tore it open, exposing the jagged bullet wounds beneath his ribs. I counted five. “Shit.” “I’ve had worse,” Tomas grunted. “Yeah? Not with me around though.” I poured alcohol straight into the wounds. He hissed and tried to sit up but I shoved him down hard. “Stay down.” I threaded the needle quickly, biting the inside of my cheek. Then I began stitching. With each loop, I whispered a prayer to a god I didn’t believe in. Tomas bit down on a piece of cloth one of the guards gave him. His eyes never left mine.

"Or are you too scared your real self will surface? That you're just an imposter and a failure?" My stomach twisted. The threads wiggled almost excitedly. Is it possible to kill a dead person? I shook my head, I didn't want to find out. Healing meant reversing that pull, pushing life back instead of sucking it. Could I even do that? I forced my focus onto the wound, fingers hovering over the wound slightly. Nothing happened. I clenched my jaw and pushed harder, weaving the threads into the pattern the grimoire showed. Slowly, agonizingly, the bleeding slowed. The skin knit together in tiny bits, silver light stitching her flesh until nothing was left, not even a scar.

“Do you want him to live?” Camela took too long to respond. The Bride lowered her voice. “Because if you do…the stitches must be in place before the next moonrise.” “Stitches?” Camela's voice trembled. The Bride pointed at the mannequin. “The dress is stitched with threads pulled from promises, and you, my dear, have made quite a few of those.” Camela felt a tightness in her chest again, as the intense heat from the seal within her pulsed hard, almost painfully.

It's Medusa and a Stitched Abomination! [Those two are the scariest Guardians in the manor! Not even Damien can take them on at the same time!] [This newbie is toast! Even with a vampire fiancé, she's dead meat!] [Hahaha, I'm finally gonna see her get turned to stone!] The snake-haired woman's eyes began to glow with a deadly green light. The air started to petrify wherever she looked. The Stitched Knight raised a giant warhammer, still stained with dark red blood.

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."

Barely noticeable—unless you knew where to look. There, in the left shoulder seam of the gown, a double stitch had been drawn. Two tiny, purposeful dashes. She hadn’t included that in the original sketch. It was something her mentor used to mark as a hidden sign of tailored armour—a metaphor. Invisible from the front, but strong enough to hold the entire structure. Her mentor used to call it *the ghost stitch*. Ximena felt her blood still. Only two people knew about that symbol: her, and— No.

The Doctor hissed as he examined my wounds, shaking his head and turning to Theonardo he said, "She's too weak, so her wounds aren't healing. I'm going to need to stitch them up." My head shot up at the word "stitch," and I started to panic, fiddling with my fingers in my lap, gazing over at Theonardo almost pleadingly, my bottom lip quivering. "Alright, Kacie, I'm just going to numb the area with-" At the sight of the needle, I shot off the bed, aiming for the door, but before I could reach it, Theonardo wrapped his huge arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground.

“Well… I mean… people talk.” Paulo didn’t respond. Lewis crosses his arms defensively. “I swear, I didn’t know it was him.” Before Paulo could reply, another man walks in and stops at the doorway. He was wearing a plain black shirt and moves with quiet confidence. “Paulo,” the man said. Paulo turns toward him. “What?” “Madam Stygian is awake,” the man answered. Paulo’s expression changes slightly. “That's good news,” he said to the man.

Chapter Twelve: The Weight of the Soul The woods were silent again, the mist swallowing the remains of the Stitched Doctor's white coat. I stayed on my knees in the dirt, the sedative Julian had given me fighting against the adrenaline of the bond. My vision was swimming, but I could see him.