Unfinished Tales Novels & Stories

Dark, violent, and resentful was she – Elise, the widowed witch. She stared blankly at the busy city streets of Verdana. Her swollen, red eyes glared distastefully at mortals on the other side of her glass window. She thought that mortals were much busier than the beings in the Immortal Realm. She observed that most mortals were distant from each other although they walk on the same ground. They seemed like they’re always looking for something extraordinary. She snickered; she thought that their desire for greater things must be the reason why they destroyed her family. Certainly, she was not over with her husband’s death.

I was left speechless. The venom was there. It was tangible in his words, but Ira was unfazed. “Huh, as expected.” He stepped backward, taking me along with him. I immediately threw an alarmed look at Lucien. He replied by clenching his fists. “Well then, I think we are done,” Ira finished. “See you on the other side, beast.” And in my very front, I saw a silvery glow engulf us. The next thing I knew, I was no longer in the tent anymore.

No wonder… No wonder he had that thick bandage on his left hand that day; he was planning to take his own life. My hand trembled as I held the paper, and I collapsed onto the floor. Keith caught me and shakily pulled out a tissue to wipe my tears. I felt disoriented as I made my way downstairs. The cold wind pierced through me, but I didn't feel a hint of chill. As I stepped out of the funeral home, holding Fred's urn, the gloomy weather matched my mood. Light rain began to fall, and I looked up at the overcast sky. I supposed my parents were disappointed in me.

When everything failed all these years with too much betrayals, so many deep and dirty secrets that were revealed and massive amounts of unforgivable lies that all of us have been through, I still consider them as pieces that were beautiful despite being the ugliest things that I have ever been through in my entire life. They were those kinds of moments that I would still consider beautiful despite the ugliness in it because those ugliness wouldn't help us in achieving something so beautiful that even I didn't expect would still happen. It's still beautiful in such a way that it helped me finally reach the end of something that I had with Hugo long ago that was suppose to be beautifully unfi

"I'm not scared, but just a little hungry." How would a few slices of bread ever fill a stomach? After a while, he laughed cheerfully. "My Uncle Ben told me to pick a slave… I guess I picked someone amusing." Uncle Ben? As in his third uncle? The same pack elder who would instigate infighting and later assassinate Yoran himself? Still, I kept my head down while Yoran summoned a servant, who brought so many dishes that they covered the entire table. Just the scent of food was enough to make me drool.

I sit in the leather armchair across the room. Watch the slow sway of their bodies. Listen to the creak of rope under weight. The soft, wet sounds of their breathing. They’ll hang until the sun rises over the city skyline—helpless, aching, beautifully ruined. The jute will leave its signature: red welts turning purple, rope burns that will throb for days, reminding them with every shift, every brush of fabric, who they belong to. And when I finally cut them down, when I unwrap them inch by aching inch,

As they walked back toward the exit, side by side but not touching, Talia realized something. The contract wasn’t the only thing that had been signed today. Something old had shifted. Something unfinished had stirred again. Something she wasn’t ready to name. Not yet. But soon. Very soon. And little did she know... Ethan felt exactly the same.

The cycle remained the same—scraps for food, dragged out when the pack needed healing, then thrown back into this cold, dark pit. Weeks passed before chaos erupted in the pack. My uncle, Garrick, was gravely injured in a deadly fight with rogue wolves. He was barely alive. His bones shattered, his body covered in deep wounds, and blood poured endlessly from him. The pack’s healers tried to save him, but their powers couldn’t mend even a single gash. Panic spread like wildfire. Garrick was not just any wolf—he was a warrior, a fighter who had defended the pack countless times, even when danger loomed large. Losing him would be devastating.

😂❤️ I’ve decided to make the chapters in each collection longer so you can spend more time with the characters, experience the tension, get more steamy moments, uncover the secrets, and really get lost inside every story. So please… keep your toes up! 👀😂🔥 Because I may have added a few twists here and there that you definitely weren’t expecting. 😏🌚🖤 Just when you think you understand what is happening… I might turn everything upside down. 👀💀 I want Dark Tales of Midnight to be the kind of book that makes you say, “Okay, just one more chapter…” and then suddenly realize it’s 2 a.m. 😂😭🌙

"The Vance family built a world where every breath was an advance on a debt you couldn't see. But out here, the air doesn't keep a tally." I looked down at my hands. The stain from the printer's ink was fading, turning into a faint, gray shadow along the creases of my palms. The phantom in the silk suit, the Faceless Author, the iron pens—they were all sinking into the deep, dark reservoir of the unwritten past. We had torn the book in half, and in doing so, we had finally broken the sequence. The Geography of the Unwritten