Story cover for Red To Black by SophieSutton26
Red To Black
  • WpView
    LETTURE 107
  • WpVote
    Voti 4
  • WpPart
    Parti 9
  • WpHistory
    Tempo 1h 11m
  • WpView
    LETTURE 107
  • WpVote
    Voti 4
  • WpPart
    Parti 9
  • WpHistory
    Tempo 1h 11m
In corso, pubblicata il lug 07, 2016
Robin Swift is a young woman with a temper as hot as flames. To say she was a spitfire would be an understatement. She would do anything for the band of orphans she calls a family, even stand up to the cruel Mayor and his wife. She hears that a neighboring kingdom's ruler has arrived in town, so she forms a plan to reveal the Mayor's true nature in front of him, a plan that will secure her and her orphans' safety. 

Blake Thornewood is a powerful man, yes, but lonely. As a prince, he has spent many years searching for a woman that would make him happy, but he never found her. He grew sick of the women that crowded around him, every one as vain as a peacock and as fragile as a porcelain doll. But still he longed for companionship, to have someone who could rule beside him. Perhaps that's why, when he saw a certain red-headed woman bravely stand up to the corrupt mayor, he was so instantly captivated. He knew in a heartbeat that he needed her, that she was the one who would fill the void in his heart. And he would do anything to have her.

Cover by PeterDoesTheatre
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Enver Williams is leading on a normal life but that is all ripped away from her when she is taken from her home town. When Enver comes to realize that there are others like her in more ways than one, she is determined to free herself and her newfound friends from the physiological torment of her closely supervised enclosure. ••• "Do I make you nervous, Enver?" Another idiotic question. "Wouldn't the man who kidnapped you and threatened to kill you make you nervous?" I snap at him. He only smiles an odd, crooked grin. I can make that disappear. "Wouldn't a murder make you nervous?" Now it's my turn to pull the strings. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it?" He pauses, I guess hoping for some sort of mercy in my eyes, "I didn't kill her." "Liar!" I shout. "Why won't you believe me?!" "Would you believe yourself?" "It wasn't me who shot her," he sits on a stool, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then how do you know she was shot?" "I saw it. I saw him kill her," his voice was riddled with such pure vulnerability and pain it begged me to believe him. "Who?" I try to sound sympathetic, but it comes out as scared. Maybe, subconsciously, I am scared.