When She Unravels Novels & Stories

I felt as though I could hear her angry voice in my head as she sent me angry, vulgar text messages that actually hurt to look at. "You fucking ungrateful bitch! Answer the fucking phone!" "What did you do to make the Stallones agree to divorce you, you fucking ingrate!" Calmly, I turned off my phone, retrieved the SIM card, and threw it into the trash. Then, I closed my eyes and answered her in my head, "Guess." However, I didn't care whether Mom would eventually guess correctly or not. And even if Corbin found out about my disappearance earlier than expected, I couldn't care less about what they thought anymore.

It held. She dragged the makeshift rope to the window, slid the latch open, and pushed it open with care. Then she looped one end around the thick metal bar beneath the sill and gave it a hard pull. It held firm. Letting the rest drop, she watched the cloth unravel into the darkness, each knot slipping out of sight. She counted in silence as it stretched toward the ground, then leaned out carefully and cross-checked if it reached the ground.

I lied smoothly, strolling past the desk to face him, my eyes painting the perfect picture of concern. A smirk flickered across my face, out of his sight. It did not matter if Nom bought my story or not. He could not poke holes in it. The following day, I hit the streets in search of the witness and, believe it or not, I found someone who had seen Sarah that day. I had barely walked through the door, evidence in hand, when Nom called out to me. "Aeliana, the Full Moon Festival is just around the corner. You're not planning to sneak off for some other adventure, are you?"

I wanted her to see how much she was unraveling. "Shaun, please, I’m begging you—" I looked up, catching her gaze. She was a wreck, tears streaming, her hair a wild tangle, her skin flushed deep pink. She was completely undone, and it was entirely my doing. I stopped, hovering just for a second, letting the air in the room turn heavy with her needs. She gasped, her body arching off the bed in pure, unadulterated agony and pleasure. She couldn't even form the words; she just sobbed my name.

--- Because she’s not just stronger. Not just faster. Not just controlled. --- She’s becoming something else. Something unpredictable. Something they can’t fully contain. --- And next time— she won’t hesitate. Or maybe— she will. --- And that uncertainty— That single flaw— Is exactly what will destroy them all.

I was the floor, buried under the slabs of a temple built by cannibals. Outside the dome, the 'Recycle' signal changed. The low-frequency hum turned into a rhythmic clicking—the sound of a cosmic clock resetting. One of the Unlearned—a woman with no jaw and silver-gray eyes—climbed onto the dais. She didn't touch me. She held up a small, hand-woven bowl made of human hair and scrap wire. It was filled with the clear, gold-veined water I had purified. She held it to my stone lips, her body trembling with fanatic reverence.

she muttered sarcastically, "to match that shrivelled soul." A wicked spark ignited in her chest. A "mischievous" thought blossomed into a plan. If I don't have clothes of my own here, why should he? She grabbed a handful of bespoke suits and marched back to the railing. With the grace of a flower girl throwing petals at a wedding, she tossed the heavy fabric over the edge. They tumbled through the air like wounded birds, landing directly in Riven’s path.

She craved order. “You’re married now,” she told herself. “You don’t run for the hills when you see shadows.” But this wasn’t a shadow. It was a thread. And threads, when pulled, can unravel even the most carefully wrapped things. Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t pick it up. Not yet. She had finished rinsing out the mug. Turn it over on the towel. She only then picked up the phone.

She seemed sad, a broken sort of emotion overcoming her features. I felt a trickle of shame run down my neck, as I stared at the dejection in her eyes. She pulled her hair up, thread tangled between her fingers, which she quickly twisted off, carefully tucking them away into a patchwork bag, with other scraps of fabric. “Heron. I can’t just go to anyone. I need it to be believable for my father. All of the women I know would take the opportunity and run with it, but they could never convince my father. They’re not-“

I asked, curious. I couldn’t believe I was giving in to this nonsense but… yeah, sue me. I loved gossip. “It’s just so… blonde. Like platinum blonde. And it’s long too. So long he has to tie it into this ponytail. A ponytail that doesn’t work by the way because there are these loose strands that fall around his face and it’s just…” She made a frustrated sound. “It’s just so unfair. I’d swoon if I was the type to.”