Vows Are Spoken To Be Broken Novels & Stories

Just truth. I unfolded my own vows. The paper trembled in my hands, but my voice didn’t. “I used to believe love was a promise you kept through perfection.” “But now I know—it’s the vow you honor through truth.” “I vow to be honest. To be bold. To be soft, even when the world tries to harden me.” “I vow to keep growing with you. Not into someone smaller—but into someone fuller, deeper, braver.” “I vow to never forget that we were once broken. Because it makes the wholeness mean more.”

"I vow to be peaceful when I enter the Sprite lands. I promise that no Sprite will die by my hands. I swear that when I remove the woman, Anya, from the custody of her princes, it'll only be temporary; when she reaches the age of eighteen, I'll let the Sprite Princes come to my kingdom and take back what was destined for them. I make this blood vow, knowing that if I break it, my blood will spill for eternity, leaving me to be the husk of who I once was." As soon as I recite the final word to the vow, our wound starts to heal, and my oath forever binds me. Kade's vow is simpler than mine, and I notice when Delphine only cuts into Kade's palm, not spilling any of her blood. She also speaks th

On the night of their fourth wedding anniversary, Raymond Whitmore stood on a Boston stage and unveiled a perfume called Eternal Claire, dedicating it to the woman he swore he would love until his last breath. The world called it the most romantic gesture of the year. Claire called it a cage with a golden lid. Because thirty minutes later, a stranger sent her a video of that same perfume being poured over another woman's naked chest, in a suite two floors below the ballroom, by her husband's very hands. For four years, Claire had traded her PhD, her name, and her silence for a marriage the tabloids envied. In return, she got a mother-in-law who called her barren, a husband who called h

I lost the illusion that I could control the terms of my own suffering. And from that moment forward, my vow became real. Not to him. But to myself. I would never let this be my ending.

“You’re really good at this, you know. Talking like the world bends just because you want it to.” He hums, faint amusement curling in his tone. “Experience. It usually does.” “Not with me,” I say. “You can’t buy my compliance with money or pity. And you definitely can’t write it into a contract.” He steps even closer, enough that I can feel the quiet pulse of his breath. “You think you’re immune to me, Ava?” I hold his gaze. “No. I think I’m not for sale.” His eyes flicker—something faint, something human—but it’s gone before I can read it. “Then I guess we’ll see how long your principles last when the ink’s dry.”

I take a deep breath, stiffen my jaw and give him my own vows; “On this day, Mason Lachlan, I vow to hate you until I draw my last breath. I loved you once, maybe a part of me still does, but I vow never, ever to show you that weak part of me ever again. I'm broken because you broke me, but I vow to pick myself from the pieces and when I do, I vow to fight back. This rubbish sham of a marriage will disintegrate after two weeks. I will make it a living hell for you.” I raise two of my fingers. “Two weeks is all I’m giving you. You will beg me for a divorce, Mason Lachlan. That, I promise.” Then with a mixed sense of pain, defeat and hope, I turn to the priest and utter those forbidden words;

We promised to keep the inn’s doors open for anyone who needed it, and to keep being as loud as needed when people tried to strip kindness into commodities. When we got home the light had softened in the way that makes rooms feel like things you can fold. Marcus paused at the entrance to the nursery and looked at the little crib with something like reverence. “I’ve been thinking about vows,” he said. “Not the public ones—private ones. The ones I keep failing at and the ones I want to get good at.” “You owe me a vow about pancake distribution,” I said, because binding agreements are the only kind I can handle without dramatic paperwork.

Some oaths cannot be broken. The thought tumbles in my mind. “It is true. The consequences can be dire when breaking a promise. An oath is sworn with your life.” Theia warns. “A witch is nothing without her word. Our whole existence is built upon the truth that words are powerful and have meaning. A covenant is an agreement, but an oath is a solemn promise. Breaking an oath is not a simple undertaking. The consequences of such actions can be catastrophic and change who you are entirely. To break an oath is a choice of darkness. Embracing the worst that this world has to give.” Asteria chimes in.

I inquired. Her expression was solemn. "I'd like you to swear. Dare? Do you want to lick your own words, or do you want to lick your own tongue?" "I frequently break vows because I'm afraid that if I swear, I'll break it. So it's best not to curse—" "There are no excuses. Come on, be a true man and swear." "I'm terrified of breaking my oath. Who, after all, believes in Adrian?" "I believe in you and will continue to do so. Ad, be a man and swear."

Just fate. And the vows? I won’t wait for the priest to speak. I won’t let her lie through a smile as she promises herself to someone else. My vows will be whispered into her mouth as she gasps. As she shakes. As her hands claw at my back and her lips part with breathless devotion. I will vow to take her again and again. To keep her. To ruin her. I will speak them into her until she’s sobbing and clinging to me, lost and remade.