Ember in the Dark
  • Reads 31
  • Votes 17
  • Parts 15
  • Time 1h 7m
  • Reads 31
  • Votes 17
  • Parts 15
  • Time 1h 7m
Ongoing, First published Dec 12, 2023
Fierce, clever, strong, and confident human, Verena Ambrosine is running from her fate. Living in a place where she is nothing but a pawn in the hands of Elf King, Sirius. Seeking power and freedom of her kind she is sent to kill the prince of dark court, Prince Rune.

    She loves him more than she hates him for what he has done to her and how he has destroyed her. 

    Arrogant, charming, ambitious, and playboy Maêl Ravenfield prince of the spring court is an elf who hates mortal. He only thinks of them as slaves and bed toy but never had he imagined that he'll be head over heels for nothing but a mortal human.

    She is everything he had been missing in his whole life, redemption for his sins and a cure to his hunger.

    A dark forbidden love that is as innocent as a kid and lethal as a venom. A love that can save the world as well doom the world.
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Rhosyn's Journal Entry: I find myself turning to ink and parchment as if words can fortify the brittle pieces of my heart. There is something in the rhythm of verse, in the gentle pulse of poetry, that soothes the ache no court's promises can touch. "In shadows deep where secrets lie, A rose blooms still, beneath cold sky. Her thorns are sharp, her petals frail, Against the storm, her courage pale." Do I write of myself, or of some other creature trapped in a story not her own? Sometimes it feels as though I am the shadow and the rose both, caught between a world that demands obedience and a heart that refuses to yield. How bitter it is to dream of freedom while knowing my wings are clipped, bound by alliances that do not care for the scars they leave behind. "A crown of thorns, a silken mask, A future bound in hollowed glass. Yet hope persists, a trembling flame, Defiant still, against the pain." Hope. A foolish word. A fragile thing that clings to the edges of my soul, like a candle flickering in the winds. I write these lines as though hope is a friend, but truly, it's a ghost-a haunting I cannot rid myself of. In the quiet hours of dawn, it murmurs, stirs, and breathes life back into me. It is a torment and a salvation, this hope. "One step, one breath, one whispered plea, Against the night, she will not flee. In silence kept, her song unfolds, A tale unwritten yet, untold." Perhaps there is a power in words, in laying bare the fragile threads that hold me together. To write is to bleed without consequence, to free myself, if only for a moment, from the binds of the court. And so, I keep writing.
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