Vanished Aesthetics Mga Nobela at Kwento

"And they... It was not so long ago." "I'm so sorry about that." "Yeah, but the living keep on living." I shrug the atmosphere off and smile. The cold pricks my skin again and I shiver. "Can we continue watching Castlevania?" I pick my phone up from the floor. "Yes, we can." He smiles and we continue watching the show. My heart is racing and my head is spinning. My shoulders fold inward instinctively. The vents were still working perfectly and the cold was becoming unbearable. And I decided to—why did I have to wear this stupidly sexy strapless gown?

I just stood there, in the secluded road, all alone as the autumn breeze caressed me gently, reaching deep into my soul. I felt like a diaspora, standing there in the strange, dark valley. Suddenly, all the colours that was in the background and melted together in a bland combination. Everything swirled as I stood there, trembling. Something bad was going to happen, I knew it. The colours that melted together, suddenly, started separating, creating a vague form of shades. Red. Black. Brown. Scarlett. It was like witnessing a mighty artwork unfold in front of me. Shades of red, brown and black diademed the canvas, yet not getting mixed together, as if they harboured misogyny.

I moved through and blindly, I collided against someone, my hands laying on her two boobs just in time, preventing a total collision. Sharply, I withdrew my hand and looked up to see a woman who should be in her late 40’s. She had her head scraped, leaving her hairless just like Ruto. She had the tattoo of a dragon on her arm, an art that makes her look rebellious. Jagged, a scar cut on her skin, running from her head, darting through her left eye brow and stopped below her eyes which made me wonder what kind of animal or weapon marked her face at such a delicate area.

"They were chasing a horizon that didn't exist. They thought if they kept moving, they could outrun the consequences of what they were leaving behind." He found the valve. It was caked in grime but made of solid, unyielding brass. He wiped it clean with a rag, and it gleamed in the dim light. "Look at this. This was made seventy years ago. It’s heavy, it’s ugly, and it’s perfectly functional. We’re going to take this, clean it, and it will work for another fifty years. That’s the kind of ghost we want to keep. The ghosts of things that were built to last."

What wish would possibly fix this shit heap? “I – I wish that Rose was never born a Fallen.” I said, hoping I don’t regret this decision. “Hmm. Interesting choice. Very well.” Gabriel said before clapping dramatically. I felt my body free fall, and everything turned black.

She had to disappear. When I walked back into the main room, Silas was waiting with a middle-aged woman holding a professional makeup kit, a high-end hair stylist, and a man holding a massive tablet. "Vivian Vance was a creature of local courtrooms. She wore sensible heels, low-key jewelry, and kept her dark hair pinned back," Silas said, finally turning to look at me. His grey eyes scanned me coldly, assessing a product. "She was predictable. Elegant, but plain enough not to distract the jury. Lady Veronica Vance is none of those things."

"Ms. Wren? I'm Evan Durham. Please call me Evan. Come along, and I'll show you the studio." I trailed him up the stairs, and there she was—or rather, there I was. The body on the table was my mirror image. My breath caught. She looked uncannily real. Lying there with her eyes closed, she seemed so lifelike I almost expected her to wake. Evan looked pleased with my reaction. "Our work is one of a kind," he told me. "Up close, most people can't tell the difference." He explained the rest with a calmness that felt surreal. It was as if we were picking out wedding flowers instead of orchestrating my disappearance.

I hit the **Idea** of him. The white light from the obsidian blade cut through the gray mist of the ruins. As it passed through Vane’s shifting body, the silver metal began to turn to steam. The screaming mouths fell silent. The corporate logos that flickered across his skin shattered like glass. "Error," Vane whispered, his voice finally sounding small, like a man drowning in a deep well. "Transaction... voided..." He collapsed into a puddle of harmless gray ash, the red light of the Void fading from his remains. The entrance to the Vault—a massive, circular door of iron and bone—stood unguarded.

And then, I saw it. ​A black SUV with tinted windows was parked three blocks down. It was idling, the exhaust a faint plume in the crisp morning air. It was a high-end vehicle, out of place in our world of dented sedans and muddy Land Rovers. It looked like a Vane car. It looked like a Council car. ​The ice returned to my veins. The "Vanilla Girl" vanished, replaced by the woman who had burned the Villa d’Amour to the ground.

Arrogant and pushy as he is, I have a feeling I would be dead with his having intervening. The words he said earlier turn over and over in my mind, and my heart aches. I had always dreamed he'd say these things, that he'd come around and see the error in his ways. It's too late though. There is too much water under the bridge. The trust is gone. Now, I am dying. If he had been satisfied with Sam, he would never have bothered look into my suffering. Kellan was right, he only wants ne now because he thinks I had moved on. The thrill of the unobtainable. We want what we can't have. Exes, those we deem out of our league, money, fame, freedom, keys... I am disfigured now. Scarred, no doubt soon t