Txt Crown Novels & Stories

Christine said. Azrael felt shivers running down her spine. But one question was still lingering in her mind despite of not taking in every realizations she just discovered. “Where-- how did you get this?” she asked. Christine looked at the Luna as if she asked the wrong question. Or as if the answer was already obvious. It was clear to see that she used her spells but the witch knew she had to explain. “The moment the Crimson Crest pack was attacked, I immediately thought of the Crescent Bow…” Christine started and mumbled a spell that made her look normal without the tiara and the princess dress.

The firelight made the scene shimmer as though the stars had descended to witness. Lorraine was breathtaking. Her gown flowed like water spun from moonlight, the fabric clinging gracefully to her figure before spilling in rippling folds around her feet. A crown of silver ivy rested in her dark waves, catching the candlelight with every turn of her head. Her skin glowed with the warmth of burnished honey, and her hazel-green eyes shone like gemstones as she walked down the aisle. The entire pack rose to their feet in silent awe, as though the goddess herself had placed Lorraine among them. Caden stood waiting at the altar, dressed in ceremonial robes lined with gold thread, his expression cal

“Claim me, make me yours. Do anything you want with my body. I would risk my own life just to call you mine. And for you to call me yours. Take my life away.“ He grabbed my hands and caressed his cheeks using it. He closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of it. “Own me. Own me, Crimson.” ⚘ little ⊹ lies ··································································································································

I picture him outside in the snow, coat collar up, not looking back. My chest hurts. He was supposed to protect me, not trade me like a bag of coins. I feel small, alone, cold without his hand, even if that hand only ever hurt. We stop in front of one box. A small lamp on the wall gives dim yellow light. I look at the door. My breath catches in my throat. A crest is carved deep in the wood. Black wolf. Snow around its paws. Stars above its head. The Morozov crest. Even a child knows it. Even I know it.

On cue, men with weapons, with the same tattoos emerged from the shadows. My eyes widened when I realized what their tattoos means. It's an arrow and a sword depicted together with a gothic letter R in the middle. These men are rebels! "The master will love this. Let's bring them to our hideout. Take them to the wagon," one of the rebels ordered. "NO!" I shrieked and elbowed the man who was holding me on my left arm. He lost his grip on me as he fell to his knees. He was clutching his stomach while grunting in pain. I shifted my haze to Ayla and I saw how she tried to free herself from the men. She succeeded which made the rebels frantic and furious.

Elias walked to a locked cabinet built into the wall. Using an old mechanical key instead of a digital passcode, he unlocked a narrow steel drawer. Inside rested several weathered journals. Paper. Actual paper. Older than most people living inside Zelios. He selected one carefully. The leather cover had almost completely faded. Across the front, barely visible beneath decades of wear, four handwritten words remained. Project Crimson hunger. Aldren's eyes narrowed. "I thought every copy was destroyed." "So did I." Elias gently opened the journal. Several pages had been torn out. Others were stained with dried blood. He turned slowly until one name appeared.

Just beauty for its own sake. Flowers bloomed from our palms, each one reflecting a different perspective. Golden roses for Kael's fierce devotion. Silver lilies for Rhett's sharp intelligence. Blue orchids for Darius's gentle strength. Violet nightshade for Marcus's dark history transformed. And in the center, a bloom that shifted through every color—Lyra's cosmic nature, containing multitudes. We wove them together into a crown. Not for wearing. Just for creating. Just to prove that even as one being, we could still make beautiful things.

The early morning sun filtered through the trees as a group of Greta’s royal soldiers appeared on the road ahead. Their silver armor gleamed in the light, and their banners bore the sigil of Greta a black stag under a silver moon. Xavier slowed his horse as they approached. The captain of the Greta escort, a tall man with stern gray eyes, raised his hand in greeting. “Prince Xavier, Princess Tara, Princess Sienna,” the captain said respectfully, bowing his head. “King Asher sends his regards. We are here to escort you safely to the royal city.”

After they headed toward the elevators, Regina glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly noon. The day stretched ahead in predictable calm, and she let herself relax slightly, shoulders loosening. Then the email notification chimed softly on the computer screen. She turned, clicking it open absentmindedly. Subject: Crimson Hollow Alpha Convention — Full Capacity Booking Her stomach dropped so suddenly it felt like she’d missed a step on a staircase. She stared at the screen, the words blurring for a moment before snapping back into focus. Alpha Convention. Her pulse quickened, a cold ripple spreading through her chest.

Corren asked quietly. “Yes,” Declan answered without hesitation. “And you trust me to hold what you lay down?” “With my life.” Silence stretched—not strained, but weighted with years of shared battles and brotherhood. Corren inclined his head. “Then I will take the Verdant Crown.” Relief crossed Declan’s face—not escape, but trust honored. “We’ll announce it together,” Corren said after a moment, his voice steady but quiet. “Not as an abdication, but as a changing future for all.”