Dream Breaker (I)
- LECTURAS 186
- Votos 9
- Partes 8
Oh boy, here we go again. Blood. It's like that one toxic ex you can't stop thinking about-you know it's bad for you, but it's got this pull. It ruins everything. Kingdoms? Toast. Hunters? Totally off the deep end. People? Let's just say the phrase "hot mess" doesn't even scratch the surface. And me? I'm Narsus. Disgraced knight, professional brooder, part-time beast slayer, full-time existential crisis.
Now I'm stuck in Yharnam. Imagine a city built by gothic architecture enthusiasts who really overestimated their candle budget. The place is drowning in fog, madness, claws, and the occasional giant axe-wielding beast who really doesn't appreciate personal space. Fun, right?
And let's talk about me making promises-because that's going great. This little girl hands me a music box, looks me dead in the eyes, and asks me to find her parents. And me? Being the genius that I am, I said, "Sure, kid, I'll give it a shot." Idiot. Why not promise to knit a scarf for every werewolf in Yharnam while I'm at it?
Oh, and Sapphire? She's got secrets. Big ones. You know, the kind that could either save the day or end it in a flaming dumpster fire. No pressure there. Meanwhile, I've got my own problems, like keeping the blood from whispering sweet, murderous nothings into my brain.
Here's the thing: Yharnam doesn't do heroes. It chews them up and spits them out like last week's leftovers. And me? I'm not even in the running for "mediocre antihero of the month." But promises? Yeah, they're messy, dangerous, and pretty much guaranteed to get you killed.
Still better than breaking them.
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#16
bloodborne
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I woke up in a coffin. Buried alive. I remember everything. The suffocating darkness. The taste of dirt. The sound of my own, muffled screams. But the man who dug me up wasn't a savior. He was the monster who put me there. He calls himself Hawk. He's an arrogant, cold-blooded sociopath in a bespoke suit, and he just claimed me as his new... acquisition. His mansion is a pristine, glass-and-steel prison, and I am his new project. He calls it "training." I call it torture. He's a meticulous artist, and I am his new masterpiece. Every touch is a test. Every command is a lesson in degradation. Every punishment is designed to strip away the girl who was buried and forge a new, obedient doll in her place. He thinks he's in control. He thinks he's breaking me. He has no idea he's just sharpening his new favorite weapon. He wanted a pet. He's forging a viper. And this viper is learning to enjoy the taste of her master's blood. ________________________________________ A Note From the Author Welcome to The Requiem. This isn't a typical love story. This is a dark, depraved, secret-society romance. Before you enter, please be aware that this story is for readers who crave heroes who are unapologetic, irredeemable, touch-her-and-die monsters. This book is for you if you like: • A meticulous, "artist" hero who is a possessive, sociopathic stalker. • A heroine who isn't just a survivor. She's a monster . • Intense psychological "training," power-exchange, and degradation. • High-stakes, high-anxiety, and claustrophobic "buried alive" scenarios. • Angry, violent, and dubious sexual encounters. • Spanking, begging, leashes, and so much delicious humiliation. He didn't just break her. He forged her. Read at your own risk.
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