Yor Forger Aesthetic Novels & Stories

But for now, this was enough. More than enough.

"They live among us Walk-in our dreams And see right through Our deepest desires They hear our thoughts. And prey on our fears Their soft voices Echo in our minds with promises of forever Darkness falls They heed the call of thirst The night belongs to them Eyes burn red with hunger It's our blood they crave and it's our bloodline They wish to enslave When the birth of a new day Peaks over the horizon And our shadows rise to meet them They retreat to their sanctums And seek solace in dark places In the sun, we find comfort In the light, they disappear They are The Forsaken..." Cadence said the words out loud over and over, trying to make sense of them. After a while, though, she stopped tryi

She is now 17years, a precious rare marble, and anonymity to those who don't value the quality of virtuousness; a symbol of beauty twined with good character; a diamond, which for a long time had been covered by dust, but now whose unique sparkle can tempt the oak heart of any radical king: her gracefulness, the pretty baby- face with a pointed nose, the luminous eyes that twinkle like a Sirius, the sharp sizeable curves and her beautiful well-built legs that look like a banana stem, and her long hair are what forms Esther's essence.

Fate. They call it destiny or kismet. A time comes in life when there's so much happiness that getting something more than what you expected felt surreal, a figment of imagination. As if just the deepest yearning dream of yours comes alive. Your ear rings with a constant numbing feeling of the words that you yearned to hear for years. The words that now repeat in your head like a mantra of lullaby. Calming and serene. Then denial and disbelief kicked in. Questions raking one after the other. It was impossible but then again nothing was impossible for God. When with all your will you try to wake up from the blissful dream but nothing happens.

A guard with a shaved head and a black rubber apron stood over me, electric clippers buzzing like an angry hornet. "No," I wheezed. "Not my hair. Please." "You don't have a name, no hair, no identity when you're here. You are just 402," the guard said, grabbing the back of my neck like a vice. "In the Forge, pretty is weak." "My father is Don Moretti! He'll kill you for this!" The guard laughed, dry and nasty. "Your father paid for this package, kid. Premium. He told us to shatter your ego. Shave it all off."

It will be so nice to get inside. “Foster!” A familiar spindly boy all legs with dark hair climbs from the passenger side, as inappropriately dressed for the weather as ever. Those signature ripped jeans look like he might as well be wearing shorts, and the jacket I’m sure was measured for women looks a little too thin and small to offer much warmth. Somehow, I would imagine he’d be a bit more excited to head in than we are.

He won't let us part. The dagger glints between us, black and waiting. The air around it ripples faintly, like heat on stone, and a scent rises from the blade, iron and pine sap, old magic and older oaths. My stomach twists. Atlas shifts, moving so subtly most wouldn’t see it, but I feel it in the tightening of his grip, in the tremor in his arm. "When you say, forever..." Sofia says, addressing the old woman. "You mean like eternity. Like, forever, forever."

Talon Pov I stand to my feet, watching Freya curiously. She really is the most beautiful wolf I'd ever seen. Her fur so white it glowed. I look down noticing the black patch on her chest again. Not noticing I had walked to her, I reach my hand out and stroke it. Freya looks down at me, purring. My wolf purrs back as I glance into her eyes. Her eyes were the green of the forest, bright and full of life. I don't know how long I stared into her eyes when I heard a cough behind me, followed by a threatining growl from Freya.

The eerie connection between me and the Underworld was no longer something I could brush aside. I glanced at my bracelet, the obsidian stones now cool against my skin. They’d stopped heating up, but the memories of their warmth haunted me. Every time they had glowed, I had felt something lurking—something close, as if the furies were watching me from the shadows, ready to strike again. And they had. More than once.