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A Little Wicked

The Reaper's Wicked Obsession

[Matured Content] Isadora Skaldwood was born a fae of impure blood “mannfae” deemed an inferior creation of the olden gods. However, at birth she was kissed by the goddess of light and blessed with the ability of a skin weaver, capable of healing any wound or affliction. Betrayed by her family, she's sold for gain and shipped across the world to a brothel, into the hands of a selfish businessman who exploited her abilities for years. Travelers come to this brothel not to lay with the rumored mannfae but to seek her abilities—the star price of the famous brothel in the countryside. But then everything changed when “He” appeared… Kraven Val Thrond “The Reaper” of the Raven Court, a terrifying warrior feared by those who dared to speak his name. Dangerously handsome with looks identical to a god, silver eyes like the crescent moon—but a mind dipped in madness. Isadora despised him, not just for stealing her away, but for thrusting her into his world of blood and chaos—taking her freedom just like everyone else does. He’s insane! But that’s only the cherry on top, his obsession is wicked. ~ (Excerpt) "You want to kill me and at the same time, you do not" Isadora’s features were stern and the cold look in her eyes almost forced a laugh out of him. She got more frustrated by his silence, choosing to insult him and be done with it. “Does a madman not know what to do with a mannfae?” “I can think of a thousand ways to kill you," Kraven replied in a velvety voice. "Like first throwing you off-board” Isadora's angry expression morphed into one of horror. “But that would be terrifying, wouldn’t it? Drowning in the dark sea, unable to breathe” he voiced as if he could vividly picture it—and him on board watching. "Tell me, Isadora" A cold chill crawled down her spine. "If I let you go, where would you run to, hm? I told you already this realm isn't kind to outcasts like us" "I'm not like you!" He chuckled lightly. "We're alike. What use could you be to this forsaken realm?" "What use could you have of me?" she asked shakily. “Oh love, I can think of many things but I’m not sure you’re ready… yet” ~ Cover is mine!
Dy_zamite · 1.3K Views

Little Light Lord

[An Announcement from the Author: LLL will undergo major reformations! Expect a reboot of this confusing storyline sometime early January! Thank you for all of your support thus far.] Gods rule over the fundamental creations of life. Lords watch and rule over these Gods’ creations. Phos, the Lord of Light, found himself cornered by a sharpshooter in the dead of the night. This unlikely encounter led to destiny. — The marksman needed to kill a kind, beautiful man. From the photos, his target had crystalline orange eyes and glowing silver hair that cascaded down to the floor in waves. But, as with everything, the real man looked far more lucent and stunning. Like a soft light, like the first glimmer on the ocean’s surface as the Sun arose. Before he could raise his sniper’s rifle to extinguish this ray of light, however, the beautiful target pulled out a pistol and shot him straight in the abdomen. “I hope you don’t die. Good day.” With that, he swiftly turned and left, disappearing into the darkness, his long hair bouncing to his every crisp footstep. Leaving behind the confused marksman, who, dazed, clutched his new wound and slumped to the floor. Later on, the marksman managed to act stupid enough to gain his target’s trust. Showing his true colours, he toyed with a lock of his former victim’s hair, which was as silky and soft as he imagined. He held it to his lips, raised a corner of his black turtleneck to show the bulletwound on his abdomen, and whispered in a deep voice: “This wound, how will you repay it?” The original target, who shined like a dim candlelight under the rays of the moon, stretched up his bound arms to the hitman, brought a gentle hand to his skin, covered the wound… and with an unapologetic, professional business smile, he replied: “I’m sorry, are you really sure you have a scar there? How come I don’t see anything?” The marksman: … It’s because you’re covering it. The man he originally had to kill, who wore white silk pyjamas and a flame-like orange scarf every day and who looked like he could fall over with a slight push from the wind, was actually very resistant—and really, really pissed him off. Cover Art: nonsang_08 Upload Schedule: Every 3 days
E_S_Sonnomett · 21.1K Views
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