- LẦN ĐỌC 18
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- Chương 1
Tagsfantasy
Some memories are worth having, some aren't. I prefer the ones that are, because sometimes the world needs light when it's at its darkest.
I slouched against the old stone wall in the courtyard, letting the sun warm my face. If anyone from the royal council saw me, they'd probably faint-princesses are supposed to sit up straight, hands folded, looking like they're about to recite poetry or something. But honestly? I'd rather watch the clouds and guess what they look like.
My sister Ari sprinted over, hair flying, grinning like she'd just won a secret race. "You're going to get grass stains all over that dress," she called, like she cared.
I rolled my eyes and grinned back. "At least it'll match the mud on my shoes." I stretched my legs out, showing off the mess. She giggled-her laugh was always a little too loud for the palace, but I liked it that way.
People say we're supposed to act a certain way: delicate, polite, always ready to smile for the next visiting noble. But most days, I'd rather sneak out into the kitchens and steal tarts with Ari than worry about which prince is coming to dinner. Maybe I'm a terrible princess. Or maybe I just know how to have fun.
Bảo Lưu Mọi Quyền
Tham gia cộng đồng sáng tác truyện quy mô nhấtNhận đề xuất truyện được cá nhân hóa, lưu các tác phẩm yêu thích vào thư viện, đồng thời bình luận và bình chọn để phát triển cộng đồng của bạn.
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In the Name of Obsession
She first met him in a therapy group for trauma survivors. He didn't speak much, but his eyes lingered too long, as though he could peel back her skin and read every wound carved into her bones. She told herself it was wrong, that she should avoid him, but the silence between them became magnetic. When they finally spoke, it wasn't gentle. It was raw. He told her he saw the same madness in her that lived inside him, the same hunger to feel something sharp, something real. Their first kiss tasted like blood-his lip split when she bit too hard, and instead of stopping, he pulled her closer. Soon, their nights together blurred between sex and confession. They carved secrets into each other's skin, whispered things no one else could ever hear. But his love was never safe-it was possessive, suffocating, like drowning in warm water. He wanted to break her just to put her back together. She wanted to burn in him until nothing of herself remained. The deeper they sank, the less they could tell the difference between passion and violence, between devotion and destruction. She began seeing him in places he couldn't possibly be-in mirrors, in her dreams, in the shadows of her room. He said he was inside her now, that their bond was irreversible. When her therapist asked about the bruises on her neck, she smiled and said nothing. Because the truth was this: she didn't want to be saved. She wanted to be consumed. And so she let him.Hoàn thành
The Bestfriends
"She was broken by vows-he healed her with silence. Sometimes, love doesn't arrive late... it simply waits its turn. From best friends to soulmates-when the heart finally sees what's always been there." There was once a girl who believed in forever, until her forever turned cruel behind closed doors. Astrid gave her vows to Adolf, a man whose love was a storm with no calm, whose hands never held, whose words only wounded. She stayed, at first, for hope. Then, for fear. Then, for nothing at all. But even in her silence, Someone heard her heart breaking. Tyron-her best friend, her quiet witness. The boy who knew her laugh before the world dimmed it. The man who stood by her shadow, offering light without asking for anything in return. Years passed. Hearts weathered. And when her cage was finally broken, She turned-and there he was. Not waiting. Just... there. As he always was. This is not just a story of love, But of rescue without rescue. Of friendship that grew roots beneath pain. Of two souls learning that sometimes, The greatest love stories are born from the quietest beginnings. ************************************************************************************************** 01302023Monday1246pm edited04232025 ************************************************************************************************** Disclaimer: This story is the author's fruit of imagination... It is not a true story... if there is a similarity in names, places, and events, all of these are mere coincidences... The author would like to apologize if it brings discomfort to you, dear readers. *************************************************************************************************Hoàn thành
Part 1: His Silence, My Storm - Loving in Shadows
They never spoke. They never touched. Yet something between them burned-slowly, silently-like a prayer that heaven refused to hear. This isn't a love story carved in sweet endings. It's a wound disguised as a heartbeat- a storm that lived, raged, and died quietly inside one girl's chest. She watched him when the world wasn't watching. She memorized the way he breathed, the way he existed like poetry that was never meant for her- while she stayed hidden in the quiet corners of his life. She felt everything. He remained untouched. He was distant, untouchable- a star she was never meant to hold. Yet to her, he was the gravity that held her together... and the force that tore her apart. This isn't a story about being seen. It's about loving someone so fiercely, so sacredly in silence, that even absence began to feel like a presence. Because some stories are too raw to be told, too holy to be spoken aloud- they exist only in stolen glances, in the quiet ache of never being enough. ~~~ His Silence, My Storm: Loving in Shadows A haunting tale of unspoken love, quiet obsession, and a girl who shattered beautifully for a boy who never knew she was breaking.Hoàn thànhRead before you proceed
The Forgotten nameless and the elf princess
Long ago, the Void claimed a soul of humankind, stripping away their name, their history, their face. All memory of them faded from the world, save for the chorus of whispers the Void left behind. Thus they became The Nameless Whispered One - forgotten, yet forever haunted. But though the Void unmade them, it also left them tools. The Nameless moved like a shadow across stone, their steps forgotten as soon as they were made. Doors barred to others opened at their touch, for no lock remembered to resist them. Their daggers struck unseen, their enemies already fallen before their names could be spoken. Where others saw a curse, the Nameless carried silence as a blade. Yet even shadows need an anchor. In the halls of the evergreen court lived a princess, ageless as the trees from which her crown was carved. Her memory was unbroken, her gaze unshaken. Where all others forgot the Nameless moments after meeting them, the princess remembered. Always. She walked beside them when no one else could. She stayed their hand when the whispers urged blood. She gave them a place in her story, when they had none of their own. The people feared her choice. They whispered that she risked her throne and her immortal line by binding herself to a soul touched by the Void. But still she kept the Nameless at her side - the forgotten blade and the eternal princess. Together they became a legend: one lost, one unyielding. The Nameless slipped through shadows, unseen and unremembered, while the princess stood radiant, the only one who could call them back from the abyss. And so the tale is told: when a shadow passes silently through the forest and no one recalls its shape, it is the Nameless at work. And when you see a lone princess walking the moonlit woods, know she is not alone - for her memory is the one chain the Void itself could not break.
beneath her shadow
I didn't know I was disappearing until it was almost too late. At first, it was subtle. A missed call here. A joke at my expense there. A delay in responding, followed by a grand explanation that made me feel silly for even asking. You start to wonder if you're imagining things-if your skin has grown too thin, or if the world has always been this cold and you just never noticed. But no, this is different. This is targeted. This is personal. He came to me like a storm pretending to be sunlight. Charming, magnetic, wounded-how I mistook those wounds as something that needed my healing. I didn't know then that narcissistic abuse doesn't always arrive screaming. Sometimes, it tiptoes in wearing the face of love. He said all the right things at the right time, until I stopped trusting my own sense of wrong. The highs were dizzying: he told me I was everything. Special. Unlike anyone he had ever met. He made me feel chosen. And so, I stayed-even when the lows scraped at my bones, even when the words grew sharp and the silence louder than his rage. I didn't see the cage being built because I was too busy decorating it, thinking I was safe inside. The thing about narcissistic pain is that it often masquerades as longing. You ache not just for the person-but for the version of yourself you were when they first looked at you like you mattered. You miss the illusion. You miss the fantasy. And worst of all, you blame yourself when it shatters.Hoàn thành
I love you sister
I never thought love could be both the greatest blessing and the most painful wound of my life. It's strange how the heart chooses without logic, without permission. And mine chose you. A woman wrapped not in extravagance or flirtation, but in peace, silence, and devotion. A woman who belongs not to me, not even to herself, but to something higher, It wasn't instant, not some lightning-strike cliché. It was quiet, like how the first light of morning slips through a window. I noticed your kindness first. Then your smile. Then the way you looked at people, like you saw their souls, not just their faces. There was a calm about you that made the world feel less cruel. Being around you made me feel... safe, seen. Like for the first time, I didn't have to pretend to be more or less than I was. But I started imagining what it would be like if you weren't bound by vows, if you could laugh with me, cry with me, share this messy, beautiful life. I imagined waking up beside you, not in a fantasy way, but in a way that meant coming home. But you were never mine to imagine. I know you didn't choose this lightly. Your faith, your path-it's sacred. I admire you for it. But it didn't stop me from falling, and it hasn't helped me move on. They say the greatest love stories are the ones we never get to finish. Maybe they're right. Maybe the point of you wasn't to be mine, but to show me what love at its purest really looks like. You taught me that love can be selfless, painful, holy. That sometimes, we love not to have-but simply to honor. And still, there's a part of me that whispers your name in the quiet moments, when no one's around. A part that still aches. I try to let go, but the truth is, I don't know if I'll ever stop loving you. You were my greatest love. And also, my greatest loss. If you're somewhere out there, I hope you're at peace. I hope you're smiling. Even if it's not for me.Hoàn thành
All Hail The Mist (Prv. Avengers-- Mist) Book I
I know what I am. I know what I have to do. I remember the pain. I remember their faces, some blank, some twisted in fear and anguish. I remember the stench, the taste, the sight; all my senses can still tell me what that day was like. I remember seeing the flash and then looking up to see a hilt flying at my head. I remember the blackness and the sense of security it brought me. I thought I was dead for a long time. I remember all of my past; I just can't remember who I am. So I made a new identity. One that would and could never be forgotten. I have many names, many appearances, and I have much blood on my hands. I have been thrown into a pit of darkness. Many like me have decided to wallow in their misery, to stay in their pit and never find a way out. But I, I made my decision when I heard the blood curling scream of the dead crying out for a warrior to avenge them. For a warrior to rise and forge a path of blood using the Sword of Souls. One small cut from this blade and your soul will forever be bound to it and its master. I am the Blind Soul Master, Shadow, Death. I am Mist and I have come to avenge the Dead. __________________________________________________________ The cover was done by SeaTheWords Link: http://www.wattpad.com/user/SeaTheWords Thanks for reading :)Hoàn thành
She first met him in a therapy group for trauma survivors. He didn't speak much, but his eyes lingered too long, as though he could peel back her skin and read every wound carved into her bones. She told herself it was wrong, that she should avoid him, but the silence between them became magnetic. When they finally spoke, it wasn't gentle. It was raw. He told her he saw the same madness in her that lived inside him, the same hunger to feel something sharp, something real. Their first kiss tasted like blood-his lip split when she bit too hard, and instead of stopping, he pulled her closer. Soon, their nights together blurred between sex and confession. They carved secrets into each other's skin, whispered things no one else could ever hear. But his love was never safe-it was possessive, suffocating, like drowning in warm water. He wanted to break her just to put her back together. She wanted to burn in him until nothing of herself remained. The deeper they sank, the less they could tell the difference between passion and violence, between devotion and destruction. She began seeing him in places he couldn't possibly be-in mirrors, in her dreams, in the shadows of her room. He said he was inside her now, that their bond was irreversible. When her therapist asked about the bruises on her neck, she smiled and said nothing. Because the truth was this: she didn't want to be saved. She wanted to be consumed. And so she let him.
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