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Chapter 85 Downpour
Dernière mise à jour:
2022-04-05 02:56:42
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Will Bear the Moon Chapter 78 The Ember Burns Low
*Ana*The click of the study door echoes too sharply behind me, like the snap of a thread pulled too tight. The sound reverberates through my bones, settling somewhere cold between my shoulder blades.My hand lingers on the knob longer than necessary, the cold brass pressing into my palm like a reproach. The metal drinks the warmth from my fingers, leaving them numb and trembling. I pretend I'm just collecting myself, preparing mentally for the walk with Nugen back to the throne room. For a heartbeat, I stand there—spine straight as a blade, hands folded over the front of my skirts like a shield—pretending I cannot hear them.But I can.There it is again—voices. Something murmured behind the door—low voices, too soft to make out. A hushed rhythm, broken only by the faint creak of leather and the gentle scrape of chair legs shifting across stone. Muffled by thick wood. Low. Careful. One of them belongs to Bruno-I know that deep timber from anywhere, the way it dips when he is speaking
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 77 Prt. 2 Blood In The Goblet
*Naska* The blood was rich. Velvety, dark, and warm against her tongue like liquid silk spun from copper and iron. It coated the inside of her mouth with the texture of melted wine—heady, sinful, spreading a flush of heat down her neck that made her skin tingle with satisfaction. Gods, nothing compared to human blood when it was this fresh, this pure. The metallic sweetness rolled across her palate in waves, each swallow more intoxicating than the last.Naska nearly purred at the realization. Human. Recently drawn—she could taste the life still humming in it, could smell the lingering traces of whoever had donated this precious gift. A female donor, most likely, young enough for the blood to carry that particular brightness that came with youth and health.Perhaps Elazie? No—too old now, the pheromones were all wrong, carrying that bitter undertone that came with age and declining vitality. Maybe Tulli? She was young enough, with that pert little piggy nose that always tilted up in
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 77 What Starts As A Nightmare
*ANASTASIA*I am in the Rose Garden. But not as it is in waking life. Everything is in bloom—violently, obscenely alive. Roses spill open around me in thick, silken layers, their petals so saturated with color they seem to pulse with their own heartbeat. Deep crimsons bleed into bruised purples, while tender pinks flush pale as dawn light. Each bloom unfurls like a mouth opening to whisper secrets, their folds heavy and wet with morning dew that clings to my fingertips when I brush past. Some hang pendulous, drunk on their own beauty, hearts swollen and velvet-soft, caressing my bare arms with the intimacy of lovers' touches as I drift between them.The air is thick—almost choking—with their perfume. Sweet. Overripe. Cloying. Like breath held too long against fevered skin, like honey left to spoil in summer heat. Each inhale coats my throat with nectar so rich it makes me dizzy, makes my pulse quicken with something that feels dangerously close to hunger.I am alone. But no—I’m not
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 76 Home Made Of Ice
*Nicoli*And just like that, Nicoli was alone.Not alone in the room, perhaps—servants still ghosted past at the edges of the lobby, their footsteps whisper-soft against marble—but alone in that quiet, suffocating way that settled behind the ribs like stones and refused to leave.The sound of his mother's heels still hung in the air like a low fog, trailing down the western hall. Sharp. Precise. Each click a period at the end of sentences he couldn't finish. Then came the crystalline whisper of the chandelier above—trinkling faintly like breaking icicles as the great doors reopened to let the maids back in, their arms laden with the first of many trunks. Brass buckles caught the light. Leather groaned under weight. The familiar sounds of arrival that should have felt like homecoming but tasted instead like copper coins on his tongue.He didn’t move.His shoulders remained locked, spine rigid as carved stone. The smiles and quick hellos from the passing staff felt distant. Flat. As if
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 75 Home Sweet Home
*Belinda*The storm lashed against the glass like a beast clawing to break free, each gust sending tremors through the windowpanes that Belinda felt in her bones. Sleet hammered the tall windows of the entry hall—not the gentle patter of rain, but sharp needles of ice that struck with military precision, each impact a tiny percussion in the symphony of winter's rage. She watched without blinking, her gray eyes reflecting the storm's fury while her body remained statue-still.Not snow—no, that would have been too merciful. Too poetic. Too soft for what churned inside her chest.This was the kind of cold that stalked its prey. Bitter, wet, vengeful—it slipped beneath the heaviest cloaks like skeletal fingers, found every gap in armor, every weakness in resolve. The wind carried the scent of ice and dying earth, sharp and metallic against her tongue when she breathed too deeply. Almost fitting for the tempest brewing in her heart, her endless waiting stretching like a wire pulled to its
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 74 Just Got Here
*Ana*The wind snarls with a bone-shattering snap, its howl echoing off the marble columns like a wounded beast. It cuts through velvet and wool and fur, no matter how tightly I clutch my reinforced cloak around my shoulders. She is hell-bent to reach into every tender space with vengeance, her icy fingers finding the gaps between fabric and flesh, making a misery of everyone.Like a cruel god, each gust kicks up fine dust from the desert’s edge, peppering the White Steps and gilded stone in shades of dull ochre. Even the sky looks bruised—dark, low, swollen with snow that never falls yet but taunts with its promise. The kind of sky that presses down on your chest, that warns of a storm ready to brew with the weight of held breath. Threatening the passage back through the mountains to be slow and torturous if given more time.It will not wait. I must hurry the farewells along. A struggle as it is, because each moment is like pulling a fang. There are ceremonies to uphold. Eyes to sa
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