The scene is set for the year 1943. The second world war unfurls like a steady burn, and the wizarding world begins to descend into a chaos of its own. Gwendolyn Gawmdrey leaves prestigious and dark Durmstrang Institute to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for her sixth year of schooling. There, she encounters friendship, death, and the mysterious and arrogant Tom Riddle. She soon finds herself plunged into a world of power, deceit, and manipulation. As the year surges onward, the malevolent boy and the Dark Arts begin to draw Gwen in, but under the curious gaze of Professor Albus Dumbledore, there's something else. But has the renowned wizard failed to realize that Gwendolyn Gawmdrey might have demons of her own? Perhaps one must know the darkness before being able to appreciate the light. 1 million - 1/31/22 2020- #1 in Voldemort, #2 in Riddle, #1 in 1940s, #6 in Harry Potter 2021- #3 in Fanfiction, #1 in WWII

"Smoking is bad, you know." The placid voice speaks up from the distant dark corner, nothing to see but a tall silhouette and an orange glow of a cigarette cherry. "It's the least of my problems," I murmur with my own between my lips, proceeding to feel the stagnant debris valley my throat when I suck delicately. He exhales a chuckle of cynical amusement, his footsteps getting every step clearer to my eardrums until I eventually sense body heat burning my back. "And why is that?" He whispers over my shoulder, hands inviting themselves to grip the railing in front of me so I become a prisoner between his inked arms. I swallow. "Because you'll be the one to kill me first." // Aven Brooks is hired to take pictures for the world-renown punk rock band known today as Duplicity; hoping the experience gets her into her most elite-dreamed university. However, when her lenses accidentally capture more than just cheeky sound checks and performances, she comes to a horrifying discovery that Duplicity is anything but a band. Appalled and frightened, she's trapped. *HIGHEST RANKINGS* #1 IN HARRYSTYLES #1 IN ONEDIRECTION ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @happydays1d NOT ALLOWING TRANSLATIONS! CONTAINS VULGAR LANGUAGE / DRUG ABUSE / SEXUAL CONTENT / DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE / MENTAL HEALTH READ AT OWN RISK!

"Estelle, I will kill any man who stands in my way of having you. I will kill one to one thousand men!" I snarled, fury consuming me as her frightened eyes widened. Tears now slipping down her perfect cheeks. She had to understand. I would do anything to ensure that she stay by my side. Anything. "I-I do not want that," she whimpered. Her body shook as she wiped at the flushed skin of her face. My arms instinctively going around her slight body. Pulling her into me. She shook softly as she cried. I would not treat her as a child, she is my wife, my Queen. She should know what I am capable of and why. "You are a monster Loche," she sobbed out as I brought her closer to me. Her weak attempts at fighting my embrace were futile. I held her tighter as sobs racked her body. "I am your monster, Estelle." ___________ A Dragon Prince trained to be King. A Fae Princess trained to be herself. The oldest tale, dark and light mixing together to become something beautiful or disastrous?

The sounds he made was unbearable. It echoed in the room. These wet sounds of him sucking beneath me scorched my cheeks and my lower belly. What is this? "Stop moving so much. If you resist, it'll only hurt later." Later...what more is left of this night. *** Where a girl with speech disorder is sold off to the Barbaric leader. Out of the 3 sisters she is constantly told and thought to be the least beautiful of them all. After a war breaks out between the Roem and Ninavon empire, the King of Roem orders 1 man from each family to fight in the war. Duke Pensington, in fear of his life, selfishly sells his youngest daughter to Khael in exchange for his service to fight for his life in the war. When the war ends, surprisingly, Khael returns alive and comes to claim his wife. ♡ 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐚𝐤 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐞 (change of plot) ♡ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ: ꜱᴏᴏᴊɪ ᴋɪᴍ