Novels by Ariana Stones

Emma.The thing that emerged from the tear defied description. It was like trying to look at a black hole wearing a shadow's skin, endless and hungry in ways that made my new senses scream in protest."Get back," I ordered, my voice carrying harmonics that made the windows vibrate. "Mom, get Violet out of here.""No!" Violet protested, even as my mother moved toward her. "I can help! The sad ones trust me-""This isn't like before, sweetheart," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as the entity unfurled itself further into our reality. "These aren't sad ones needing help. These are...""Predators," the thing finished, its voice like frost forming on a grave. "The ones who fed on light and dark alike, until those pitiful families built their walls. Such noble sacrifice, giving up half of existence to keep us out."Reality rippled around it as it moved fully into the room, and I felt my new form responding instinctively, light and shadow swirling protectively around my family."You're

Emma.You'd think that after all the transformations I've been through - werewolf, Seal-breaker, supernatural mom extraordinaire - I'd be used to the feeling of reality rearranging itself around me. But this? This was different.The darkness didn't just change me. It *unmade* me.I felt myself dissolving, every atom of my being coming undone like a sweater with a pulled thread. The sensation wasn't painful exactly, but the sheer wrongness of it made me want to scream. Except I didn't have a mouth anymore. Or lungs. Or anything really."Emma!" Derek's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Fight it!"*Don't fight*, whispered another voice, this one made of shadow and starlight. *Remember*.Remember what? I wanted to ask, but communication gets tricky when you're currently existing as scattered bits of consciousness floating in the void."Mommy's doing the sparkly thing again," Violet's calm observation cut through my panic like a lighthouse beam through fog. "Like when she

Emma.People talk about life-changing moments like they're these big, dramatic events with orchestral soundtracks and slow-motion scenes. Nobody mentions how they can happen in your kid's bedroom at 3 AM, while you're wearing old pajamas and that one sock with a hole in it that you keep meaning to throw away.The moment my hand touched the living shadow, everything stopped. The swirling lights, the creeping darkness, even the sound of Derek's worried breathing from the doorway – all frozen in a single instant of perfect stillness.Then the memories hit.Not mine. Theirs.Pain so ancient it had forgotten its own beginning. Rage so deep it had carved valleys in reality itself. Loneliness that made my worst moments of isolation feel like a casual afternoon alone.I screamed.Or tried to.No sound came out, but power did – raw and uncontrolled, exploding from me in waves that made the house shudder. Picture frames crashed from walls. Windows rattled in their frames. Somewhere downstairs,

Emma.You know that moment in horror movies where someone says "it's quiet... too quiet"? Yeah, turns out that's not just a cheesy line. Standing in my daughter's bedroom, watching darkness seep through a tear in reality while ancient beings of light swirled in panic around us, I finally understood what that phrase really meant.The silence wasn't just absence of sound – it was absence of everything. Like reality holding its breath."Violet, honey," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm despite the fear clawing at my throat, "I need you to come to Mommy. Very slowly."But my daughter didn't move. Her small hands still held the edges of that impossible tear, her eyes fixed on whatever lay beyond it. "They're sad, Mommy," she whispered. "So sad it turned into anger. Like when I had my big tantrum at the store, remember?"I did remember. The day my two-year-old's meltdown over a stuffed giraffe had accidentally brought every toy in the store to life. We'd spent three hours corralling ani

Emma.Have you ever had one of those moments where everything hits you at once? When the weight of all your responsibilities crashes down and you can barely breathe?That's how I found myself at 2 AM, sitting on my kitchen floor, surrounded by the soft glow of ancient beings that now regularly drifted through our house, having what I could only describe as a full-blown panic attack.This has become my new reality. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone, where dozens of unanswered messages blinked accusingly. Community leaders demanding guidance. Parents desperate for help with their evolving children. The supernatural world was changing, and somehow, I'd become everyone's anchor in the storm."You should be sleeping," Derek's voice came from the doorway, thick with concern."So should you," I managed, trying to steady my breathing. The lights around me pulsed with worry, responding to my distress. Great. Even cosmic beings were fretting over me now."Emma," he sa

Emma.Pro tip: When your toddler starts teaching ancient cosmic beings how to play patty-cake, maybe don't mention it in your parenting blog."Left hand, then right hand," Violet instructed patiently, demonstrating the clapping pattern to a swirling mass of lights that had taken on a vaguely child-sized shape. "See? Easy!"The being – which Violet had dubbed "Sparkles" because of course she had – attempted to follow along, its form rippling with each try. The result was less patty-cake and more abstract light show, but my daughter didn't seem to mind."At least she's not teaching them Baby Shark anymore," Derek muttered from where he sat beside me on our back porch, watching the surreal playdate unfold in our garden.I snorted into my coffee. Yesterday's impromptu musical lesson had resulted in the ancient beings creating harmonies that made reality itself vibrate. We'd had to explain to our neighbors that no, they weren't experiencing earthquakes – just supernatural singing lessons.