White Nights By Fyodor Dostoevsky Novels & Stories

The dead wolves, mutilated and killed His dead mother's body, found close to the forest The white wolf, found unconscious close to the border Her crescent tattoo. What if all of these random events were somehow connected?

The Black Emperor felt that the words of his men were just empty. 'In that case, wouldn't it just be a fairy tale? I often experience loss, but it is impossible to find what has been lost and separated by death.’ Yurigov's heavy breathing sounded before the large man answered Illarion's question. Outside, the sun was shining dimly, and little snowflakes were starting to fall. "Did you really see Mrs White's face on the scaffold that day?" Yurigov answered. He answered the Black Emperor's question with another question.

Her head—light from decay—shifted against his neck. Whitey cried out, fear squeezing his heart (because her dry touch was so cold) as he pushed weakly off the wall to his feet, tottering away into the darkness, stiff joints screaming. Hands out, searching the blackness, he felt brick, turned and flattened against the far wall. He frantically dug into his pocket for his lighter . . . And heard it. Scratching. Dragging. Something, several somethings . . . Carlos Marcus if I believe in it, it will happen

No offence but Russians are much paler than Italians due to the different weather conditions on both continents. I was still looking at the dark sky which was once a colourful one. The darkness overcame the bright and light colours of the beautiful sky. Again the light overtakes the sky after a few hours of darkness. It goes from light to dark and goes on. That’s how I see my life. The darkness has been quite long but I’m patiently waiting for the light to arrive. I’m working hard for it and will do anything to surpass the darkness I’m currently in.

Their faint voices were not mere echoes, but flashes of madness throbbing in the darkness, stirring bodies and pressing down on hearts. Meanwhile, Malik and Dima huddled behind the door of Nabil's apartment, silent, their fingers gripping the cold edge, their hearts pounding like the faint drums of war. They had no idea how this night would end, and no one dared guess what would happen when the dead shadows clashed with human power, with spirits unwilling to leave. The night coiled around the tower like a black serpent, pressing down on every corner, testing the patience of those who stood before it. Every breath, every whisper, carried the promise that this night would not end peacefully, t

And I pushed. --- Lumi White. Everything was white. Not the white of snow or clouds, but the white of a blank page. It hurt. It was a physical assault on my eyes, a void that demanded to be filled. I was standing, but I couldn't feel the floor. My hands were bound in front of me by ribbons of light that felt like math—cold, geometric, and unyielding. Every time I tried to shift my weight, the light tightened, humming a low, buzzing note of disapproval.

And behind Elias, in the corridor he is blocking, the dark goes pale. The white light reaches the nursery doorway, throwing no shadow, casting Elias forward in a glare that has no source. The White-Glow has caught us. There is no half-second left to buy and nowhere left to run, and the only fire any of us has is the one banked cold and silent under my heart that may already be dead. Damian presses the trigger.

The white figure shaken, as so the white pagoda! Not to mention the white-hooded women, their mumbling stop mid air and they reveal the fading white in their eyes! “The great sweeping... Impossible!” The cry of the white-hooded women, covering the vibration and boiling of the darkness. They flow up, surrounding the highest white part of white pagoda! The golden glow reveal for a second, but the white-hooden women is shaken miserably. This cause the white figure to slighty despair. However, she reveal the mocking light in her eyes.

Closer. Out of the darkness of the night emerged a detachment of riders. They saw lifeless, snow-white faces, twisted blue lips, from under which fangs protruded like sharp needles. And eyes, dead eyes, staring in the soulless blackness of darkness. It was as if a cold veil had been thrown over their small group, which squeezed them with hopeless longing. “Delonghee,” breathed Riston doomed. - Who are they? Vic asked with a tremor in his voice and shuddered.

He stayed there, pulsing, his weight pressing me into the mattress as my body trembled beneath him. He pushed me past the point of thought, past the point of fear, until my body betrayed my mind and I collapsed into a forced, heavy sleep beneath his weight. But even as I felt the darkness take me, one thought remained, flickering like a dying candle in the back of my skull. Heaven is a white wall. And white walls are very easy to stain with blood.