White Nights By Fyodor Dostoevsky Novels & Stories

Then my legs. The world tilted sharply to one side. And then, the strength drained out of me all at once. My fingers went numb. My legs gave in. The floor rushed up— Darkness swallowed everything. I didn’t feel myself hit the ground. I was already gone. ~~~~~ I woke up choking on nothing. My eyes flew open, but my body stayed behind. White. That was the first thing I registered. Not light—white. Blinding, sterile, endless. White light stabbed into my skull. Too bright. Too clean. My vision swam, edges blurring like I was underwater.

But she hadn’t imagined wearing anything that remotely resembled a wedding dress. And here she was, sheathed in the most devastatingly beautiful bridal dream known to women. The dress was sizzling white with a superb beaded Elizabethan collar, the whole covered with magnificent embroidery and even sweeping down into a small train. Her mistake had been protesting the unsuitability of such a gown within Demis’s hearing. She had never dreamed he would even interest himself in what she wore. “Dear, all my wives wore white,” Demis had interrupted loudly. “It’s part of the show…”

Miss Fatima's POV The light that the sun is producing wakes me up in the morning. I woke up peacefully today. I feel so relieve, and I think I know the reason why. I started walking outside my room and make my way to the room of Sarah. I take a peek inside Sarah's room. Sarah is sleeping so safe and sound. I did not bother to wake her up. I read an article yesterday night that waking someone from sleeping peacefully can cause its neurons to die. Well, I do not want that to happen to Sarah, so I'll just wait for her to wake up herself.

HAZEL’s POV ‘Ahh’ I groaned the moment I woke up; it took me couple of minutes to recall everything that had happened, and I was in panic instantly. My eyes drifted to my surroundings only to find the white walls which have lost its color because of the grease. This small prison like room has a roof covered with net like shade, sunlight was passing through it making the area illuminated and a good source of exhaustion.

Inside my head, my wolf was silent at first. Then I felt it. He was crying. Not angry. Not fighting. Just… crying. Quiet, broken sounds that made my chest ache. “It’s not a big deal,” I said to him gently. He didn’t reply. He was just sad. Deeply sad. Like I had taken something precious from him. I reached the bottom of the mountain and walked to my car. Then I saw them. About twenty men with completely white eyes were walking up the path toward the old woman’s hut. They moved silently, like ghosts. They were clearly here to replace the ones I had killed earlier.

Do I accept that? I turned to Morris again and helped him wipe off his clothes. Damn, he's wearing white. "Of all colors, why are you wearing white?" I asked him. "Is there a dress code?" he sarcastically remarked. Morris and I were still arguing about his white shirt when the guy came back with a plain black shirt in his hand. "Again, I'm sorry. My friend was just a little tipsy," he said after handing over the clothes. "That doesn't look like a bit tipsy to me," Morris remarked.