Tom Riddle Art Novels & Stories

“Rosa is widely celebrated across the global territories for his absolute brilliance in modern gear and silver jewelry design, but long before his famous brand launched to the alphas, his raw talent first emerged through the canvas. One of his earliest creations, Spring Goddess, holds a very special place in his artistic journey. The Valoria Ridge Art Den was incredibly lucky enough to add the Spring Goddess to its massive collection five winters ago, and it has remained one of its most cherished pieces ever since that day. As an alpha who deeply admires Rosa’s legendary work, my own eyes have studied this exact painting in great detail. I highly encourage all your wolves to take a closer lo

We would usually mate, and a mating bond was always stronger than that agreement that we signed on a wedding paper. “We have no objection.” Alpha Arturo said, looking at him through the corner of his eye. His voice was deep, husky, and hoarse. His power radiated by just seeing his presence, and I could tell that one growl from him would shut a whole room up with no fights or arguments.

She wondered as she typed a response to the latest email. “Hey, this is…” Rhett had begun flipping through her art book and found the pictures of the Triquetra. He turned it and grinned. “A really nice c-ck shot. Looks just like Heath’s c-ck in real life. Beautiful!” He chef-kissed his fingers. “Ha,” she flicked him a look out of the corner of her eye. “If you turn over a couple of pages, you’ll see the the next releases of my comic in pencil, ready for inking. You know how to do that, from school, you remember?”

My eyes scan the portraits one by one, trying to find inspiration, when my eye travels to a corner I rarely venture to look at. I swallow. My eyes lock on the all-black painting. The only color is a pair of red glowing eyes. This. This image is of my nightmares. I was plagued for years with this image. I haven't thought of it in so long. A shiver shoots up my spine as I break my eye lock and return to my blank canvas. **** I painted for a bit, but decided I needed to ground myself a bit more. I head downtown to a little neighborhood I like to call Hallow Glen. I don't know why. I just like the way it sounds.

"Please, call me Hermes. And may I say, you are quite talented yourself. Your paintings have a unique perspective, and I find that quite refreshing." I felt my cheeks warm at his compliments. "Thank you, Hermes. I'm so glad you like my work." His smile broadened. "I'd love to discuss your work further if you're free for dinner sometime?" I felt my heart skip a beat. Hermes wanted to have dinner with me. I was going to have dinner with one of the most influential people in the art world. "Of course, that would be wonderful," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Hermes gave me a warm smile and walked away, leaving me to catch my breath. I couldn't believe what had just happened. This was a

"Unlike you, he appreciates my art. All it took was just one look, and he could tell the emotion coursing through my veins as I painted. It was one of my bad pieces, and he wanted to make it the centerpiece of the Umbra art collection. All you've ever had to say about my art was how it was a waste of time and that it would amount to nothing" "That's because it's true." He said and I winced, his words hurting. He groaned in frustration and grabbed my wrist. "Riven doesn't really like your art, Hazel. He's just doing this to gain more power. Can't you see that he's just using you against me" I shook my head refusing to believe him. The look on Riven's face, when he'd spoken about my art wasn't

Besides, I do not think they are here for me because if they are here for me then a fight would break out and the fight did not happen which means I was not the one they came for. Arturo asked me if I knew who they were, then I answered with a question: how would I know who they are when I did not talk to them or glance at them. Arturo scrutinized me saying he hoped what I said was the truth and left. Who cares about what he thinks, I am Alpha Raymond and I know how to cover each step of mine before anyone could find a trace of it. I went to where Arturo was asking about the deadly poison he found.

Who is this work of art with ridges of muscles, tempting fingerers to trace his spectacular vision. Who is this?

“I didn’t mean to.” “Nevertheless, good is good.” She smiled at her with unabashed sweetness. “And I hope you’ll ask Aiden to show you the pieces. They’re by an Icelandic painter called Ragnar Vilhjálmsson. The collection is called Let Us Compare Mythologies.” “Is that…is that a Leonard Cohen reference?” She nodded. “You know, if it wouldn’t be the…” For the first time, her grace faltered, a delicate flush brushing the fine arch of her cheekbones. “The uncoolest thing in the world, would you like to come to lunch with me someday?”

“Did you hear that?” Tommy seemed to notice nothing. “Keep going,” he said. “Don’t stop.” Richard drew the final forbidden symbol in the earth, anointing it with pulverized bone from a small vial. He flicked some into the candle flames, making them spit. Sprinkled the grayish bone powder over the Bible’s leather cover. Then, he took out the amber glass eyedropper bottle, containing tears, and squeezed a few drops onto each of the graves. Human tears. On each adult grave.