Under The Skin Novels & Stories

‍ Moving under m​y skin. ⁠I pul​led away​. Sat u​p. Looked a⁠t my arm where h‌e'd been holdi⁠ng‌ me. There wa‌s a mark. Dark. Lik‌e a brand‌ but not b⁠urned. Spreadi‌ng across my sk‍in in intri‍cat⁠e pat‍terns‍. Beauti⁠ful‌ an‍d ter⁠rifyi‍ng.

Even the god Anuxis and the other Archons writhe in pain. With a collective scream, everyone clutches their heads, their faces contorted in expressions of unbearable agony. They are the Skinning of the mind, abominable creatures with the power to invade and control the minds of their victims. They emerge from a hole in the ground, a dark and menacing opening that seems to be the very gate to the underworld.

Lusia. She stood beneath the cascading water, steam curling around her delicate frame like a lover’s embrace. Her skin glistened, covered in a soapy lather that slid down the curves of her body, tracing the scars that marred her flesh. Those scars—each one a testament to the suffering she had endured—should have repulsed me. But instead, they fascinated me. They were proof of her resilience, of the fire that burned within her despite everything she had been through.

It's in the way I run my fingers on her skin, feeling her silky smoothness, tracing every scar, bump, birthmarks, dips, and crevices of skin against skin tongues swirling as we scour our depths. One thing that struck me was her skin. Her hair was the darkest shade of black but somehow, she had gotten a tan skin which was quite unusual. Most women with jet black hair were mostly pale but her skin, like burnished gold under the candle lights as we tangled legs under the sheets.

Like he was trying to make it easier for me. I looked at him. Really looked at him. His body was already giving up. His skin looked thin, almost like it was clinging to his bones. Dark lines ran under it, moving slowly like something alive inside him. His blood… it wasn’t even normal anymore. It was black, thick, and dead.

Why wasn’t she awakening? Mortus took off his tunic, his glowing white skin littered with a few scars, but mostly tattoos of crosses and busty women. “I’ll get them covered, just for you. I’ll rip the skin from my body if that will make it better.” My arms were trying to crawl away from him, only to be pulled back to the center of the bed.

- Tsuki said. - You think, I'm fine. – A voice behind him said. - How did you get in here without being seen? - Tsuki questioned her turning around, looking at another victim's skin on her hands, and to her horror, she had no skin on her body, there was, when looking deeper, answering her other questions, another entrance hidden underground and lateral to the bottom of the attic, besides that when looking at the woman - You're covered in tumors and no skin. - He said.

It felt as if I was ravenous, my body eating Itself to stay alive. I got out of bed, walking towards the window. My eyes burning, I closed and opened them rapidly, adjusting to the light. The sun looked like it had just risen. I put my hand out towards the light, shocked by what I saw. My skin turned a brownish amber that was Shiny and slick to the touch. How best to describe It, I did not know? It was like my skin was glass, but not see through. Like I looked rock hard, yet soft to the touch. I looked shiny, not sparkly, but bright nonetheless. Like the sun hitting stained glass. It didn't hurt, but It was definitely obvious that I... was different. 'What is going on?!' I did not understand

His damp skin glows in the light from the bathroom, and some light that filters in from the grey day outside from the window next to the tub. His chest that is full and hard is pale in the light. The arms that connect to his strong shoulders have a curve to them that are from his muscles beneath his skin. A tight waist supports his ridged torso and rests on two thick legs that are long as they are strong-looking. Both hip bones are visible and his already low-hanging underwear is slipping down.

"Look at her. She isn't blue. She isn't gray. She's... gods, look at her skin." Beneath the thin layer of birth-fluid, the baby’s skin wasn't marked by the typical corporate barcodes or registry tattoos that every mid-tier infant received at birth. For a second, a faint, geometric pattern of violet light pulsed beneath her collarbone—a ghost of the Vane Global data-stream—and then it simply dissolved, swallowed by a deep, light-drinking shadow that left her skin smooth and unblemished. She let out another cry. It wasn't a whimper. It was a sharp, concussive sound that vibrated through the marble floor, causing the puddles of melted silicone around us to ripple.