White Veil Novels & Stories

"We vanish. The world thinks the Ghost is dead and the Bride is lost at sea. Let them keep their insurance money and their lies. We have the only thing that matters." ​He looked at Vivienne, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "We have the dark. And in the dark, Vivienne, we are kings." ​Vivienne took a deep breath, the scent of the pine woods and the oil of the hangar replacing the cloying smell of funeral lilies. She reached down and tore a final, dangling piece of lace from her hem, letting it flutter to the floor like a dead leaf. ​The "Vatican White" was gone. The "Blinding White" was over.

Preparing for the final battle. The war for the Veil had truly begun. 🌙

The music started suddenly and the massive glass doors at the far end of the path opened. I unclasped my hands and stood straight as Silas stepped out. A soft breath left me at the sight of him. He looked... devastating, that was the only word I could put to it. The white and royal blue ceremonial attire fit his slender frame with cruel perfection, the flowing cape trailed behind him like spilled ink, and the sheer white veil partially obscured his face, yet it only made the sight more haunting. My eyes trailed to his frail hands that clutched the bouquet tightly, and the way he walked… a tiny smirk lifted at the corner of my lips, his steps were hesitant, eac

Witches on the city walls began shouting in alarm. High Witch Elowen’s voice echoed across the battlefield. “The Veil is reacting!” The crack in the sky grew wider. Not much. Just enough that something darker could be seen behind it. Not stars. Not space. Something deeper. Like a vast ocean of shadow pressing against the barrier of reality. Seraphine forced herself to focus. “What do the whispers mean?” she asked through clenched teeth. The Immortal looked grim. “The Veil is alive in ways most species never understood.”

The forest looked warped beneath the half-light, and the air hung still, charged with invisible tension. Iris shaded her eyes. “Is it an eclipse?” Aiden’s voice was low. “No. It’s the Veil.” The Veil. An ancient omen—a curtain between the mortal world and the realm of the spirits. For it to descend now meant something catastrophic was drawing near. It meant the boundaries were cracking, and the Hollow Throne was stirring. Her mark burned. Not with the usual golden fire, nor with the black void it had flirted with before. Now, it shimmered a dusky violet—a melding of both. Balance unbalanced.

Emily nodded her head, “Wait right here, I'll go to my room to get some money and my veil, I'll be right back!” “Alright, I'll wait right here.” “Okay!” Emily ran to her room. When she came back, she was wearing a veil that started from her head to cover the rest of her face and she was holding a pouch in her hand along with another veil. “Zoe I'm back! And I got a veil for you.” “I will not wear the Veil.” “Huh?” *** As they walked out, Violet and Emily passed yet a number of men and women, many of the women putting on veils. The women that weren't putting on veils were either old or disabled so they didn't fear attracting men.

Lifting slowly, it revealed a silhouette far away—a figure in the distance, veiled in the same ethereal haze. His heart jolted. Without knowing why, he surged forward, his strides uneven but instinctive. As he got closer, the figure became clearer—a woman in a white bridal gown. Her long black hair fell in soft, beach-wave curls over her shoulders, and a delicate birdcage veil adorned her head. She was radiant, almost angelic, exuding a beauty that pierced through the fog clouding his mind. “Vanessa,” he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief and hope.

The next morning dawned gray and hollow, clouds stretched thin across the sky like a veil that dimmed the light. The streets were subdued after the night’s panic; doors stayed shut, curtains drawn, as though the people of Black Hollow believed silence might keep the howls at bay. Evelyn walked with purpose through the quiet town, her boots striking against cobblestones that echoed too loudly in the hush. She hadn’t slept, not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the howl reverberating through her bones, or felt the searing pull of her mark. But exhaustion couldn’t drown her need for answers.

Dawn arrived without ceremony, without pity, creeping pale and grey across the camp like a sickness. The witch was already awake. She looked at me once—my bloodshot eyes, the tremor in my hands, the way my shoulders hunched as though bracing for a blow—and nodded. “White,” she said, pressing the cloth into my hands. “You will stand clean before the river so he has nothing over you again.” My fingers fumbled as I wrapped the cloth around myself, the fabric too light, too bright. ‘A shroud,’ Vethros purred. ‘She dresses you like something meant to be buried.’