Tragic Synonym Novels & Stories

“Is he in the medical field?” “He’s dead.” Ava’s eyes flicker to her, understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s the normal courtesy to say when people hear of your loss but it feels more genuine to hear coming from someone who went through the same thing. Mia wonders how she lost her boyfriend. She doubts Ava experienced the same ordeal as hers. She doubts Ava was ecstatic when the lights went out of her boyfriend’s eyes. Because Mia certainly did. And she will do anything to watch it happen all over again.

But because of this power and struggling for throne, adding my stupidity in the past made my family faced the tragic and miserable ending in their life. In this life, I swear I will never lose again from someone and end up dying pathetically. The end I experienced once, is not where the curtains will fall down. Instead it is where my curtains will rise up and show to them that this woman will perform a magnificent play for them to be entertained. I will be the one who will have the last stand in this second life.

The one person I loathe the most in this entire world, is my fucking mate. What the hell kind of screwed up fate is this? I think I need a stronger word than tragedy because it does not begin to cover this….tragic turn of events? Disastrous, catastrophic, devastating turn of events? No…not even close to describing what I was feeling at this very moment which was slowly killing me from the inside out.

Previously, I felt betrayed and hurt. The man who I thought I owed my life had now turned out to be the one ruining it. That thought made the pain worse. "The beautiful love which I felt from you has completely disappeared, Jihun. It completely has!" He chuckled darkly hearing me and with a smirk he stated, " Most things that disappear are beautiful! " ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She quickly opened it and made a pentagram, connecting the circles with the salt and the moment she sealed it, it was just Sawyer and Weaver in the middle of the pentagram, the power sealed in with them. She stood beside Liam and gripped his arm with her non-injured one, both of them watching intently as Weaver placed the sticky thick contents of the far on top of the puncture wounds, muttering under their breath in a language Kinsley was unsure of. It sounded Draconian maybe, with a Druidic and a Greecian undertone, something she had never heard before. She could however feel the amount of power those words carried, a heavy blanket of static shock settling over the room as Weaver incanted,

It's trying to convey a message, but what could it be? An illusion of tomorrow... I have to avoid? Behold, the melancholy of tomorrow? These sentences are eerily similar. If I dissect the nature of these sentences, it could mean something tragic will happen, but the manner it was conveyed is... disturbing. It's like I saw my greatest fear and most dreadful regret in an infinite loop. For now, I'll figure out what I can. If I go by my conclusion of what happened, then the tragedy to occur is my death. I don't mind dying unless i-

Then he asked how who Bisma Francis was to her and how they were related to each other. Katherine clenched her jaw. “She was my step-sister. What else do you want to know?” Katherine gave Fabian a stern look. “And now she’s dead,” Fabian said. He was about to continue when Katherine cut in. “And I am supposed to be mourning, ain’t I?” “Fabian, I do not know what you think you’ve got on me, but someone is setting me up. The person did the same thing with you when your daughter was still missing, if I can even use that word.” Katherine said.

Trying to call attention away from the subject, Ethan continued, "It's called loyalty." Vince turned quickly away from Ethan before he saw the angry hot tears coming to his eyes. He was infuriated his brother should suggest he was disloyal simply because he was different. He was not the stuffy soft spoken type who enjoyed soft music and waltzes. Vince was full of life and energy.

His voice carried like a hymn, steady and unshakable: “This young warrior, Zebasthian, is not lost to us. He rests, his spirit curled safe under the Yellow Moon until the day he will rise again to run with his family. Today, we do not bury him in sorrow. Today, we honor him in pride.” Murmurs of agreement stirred in the crowd, yet I only clung tighter to the dinosaur pillow in my arms. The one that still smelled faintly like him. My sister’s hand pressed against mine, a reminder I wasn’t standing in this grief alone, though the hollowness inside me argued otherwise. Shawn’s words pressed on, weaving reverence into every syllable: