Call of the sirens

Call of the sirens

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing23m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jul 11, 2021
Wilchestershire, a small town in the north of England, situated at the shore, barely anyone knew it, besides the annual mermaid festival. It was very well-known for sticking to that tradition, bringing in all the tourists on the first weekend of May, to make it seem like a vibrant little town that has their shit together when it couldn't be further from the truth. But who's to judge? She wouldn't even begin to engage in discussion about that, 'let them all have their little dreamworld and let them live in peace, so I can have mine' is what she always sticks to. It has worked so far. Up until this day. The day that mysterious girl came ashore, and she saw the limp body of Simon Cartellier hanging out of his windshield, his blood spilled all over his trunk, making it seem like a work of art almost. Had she only known what she has gotten herself into by running after the girl that would soon haunt her dreams and far more than just that...
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Book 1 of Rewritten: The Inamorate Saga. The great reveal had been beneficial for some. Elves, particularly, with their beauty and grace and quiet manipulation of the world around them. They thrived in the light, able to infiltrate human structure with ease, carving out a place for their kind at the most crucial of times. Their leaders set down territory lines, segregating cities and even states for themselves, for the growth of their people. They flourished, building their empire on the backs of those withered beneath. Fae, however, didn't find such a foothold. They remained in the darkness, hidden away in the tangles of forest untouched by humans, trapped within their clans. The dark ages reigned through those woodlands, void of modern technology and any shade of defiance. Monarchs ruled, surrounded by warriors, enforcing their law upon the common people. Outside, there was talk of abuse, of forced subjugation, whispers from those fae that had made it, that had escaped. Salem had chosen to remain silent. Five years had passed, not a soul knew of the clan he had fled. He had a family, three brothers who had taken him in, who had chosen to house him rather than barter money for the purity he still held. There was a normality to the world, to the life that Salem had forged. There was no reason for change, nothing to draw him back into that inky abyss he had clawed out of. Nothing but a tree flowering ivory petals housed in the estate of one of the most influential elves in their city...

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