Fictional Stories 소설 & 이야기

Kiara's pov "Caught in a lie" That was the name of the Novel I read. Our dear author just had to lock the chapters in the end, which made the last chapters open only if you pay. And always I left it as I don't want to waste my money for just a novel. I could have used it for something else.

Instead of facing his own demon, Sabrina's father took his own life in front of his family, scarring his own daughter for life. Being a non-fiction novelist, most of my stories are about people’s experiences. I collect facts through research and interviews, then retell the stories through books. My stories, in turn, memorialize their contributions in life and highlight their suffering and pain. This way, they shall be remembered and hopefully, their story helps someone along the way, someone who currently faces these difficulties.

They are drawn to it even when their wolf has not awakened yet. I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair then sighed. “All speculations. This might just be someone who was bored and had nothing better to do and decided they wanted to make up stories. Werewolves don’t exist they only exist in story books, fairy tales. Yeah. Fairy tales.”

"A long time ago, in the once great kingdom of Uprigralon lived two sister who ruled the kingdom, they were the only fairies dancers in the entire kingdom. They welcomed all types of fairies, Brownies, Pixies, Leprechauns, Elves, Kobolds and every kinds all lived in this wonderful kingdom. The sisters who loved themselves ruled in oneness and harmony until a Sluagh fairy, an old fairy, paid a visit to the kingdom. Everything changes as the elder sister became friends with the Sluagh fairy. She exchanged her dancing skills with a musical voice and dark powers. One day, the Sluagh fairy told her, for her to get the most lovely voice, she must kill all the fairies in the kingdom." Daisy said. "

Author's Note This book is a short compilation of erotic stories. Please note that not all entries are heavily erotic—some lean more toward emotional moments, dramatic tension, or character interaction. Also, 99% of these stories don’t follow a traditional plot, so don’t be confused if there's no clear beginning, middle, or end. They’re written more for mood, moments, and expression than full narratives. Enjoy the ride,no overthinking needed. 😉 ********************************************* Kael didn’t wait.

she said. “I thought that it wouldn’t be as busy as it was in San Francisco but its crazy busy as well. I think people in this country care more about political drama than anything else. Eighty-nine percent of the news content is just politics, politics, politics. I am yet to decide if that’s a good thing or not….” “How about your co-workers,were they friendly?” Her mother asked. “Yes, everyone was friendly,” She lied. Natasha knew that telling her mother about the antagonistic and villain-like Luyando would only make her have unnecessary worries. “I know it’s just the first day but I think people aren’t as scheming as they were back home.”

Thоse were just superstitiоus fairy tales, ghоst stоries fоr yоung сhildren. The damp fabriс оf the thin nightgоwn, whiсh reaсhed dоwn tо the ankles, stuсk tо her bоdy, thus underlining the соntrast between her flat stоmaсh and slender legs соmpared tо the lusсiоus female сurves in exaсtly the right plaсes. Her nipples stооd up in the сооl and squeezed themselves сlearly under the fine shirt.

His father brought some clarity to him and insisted that it’s a collection of Middle Eastern and South Asian folk tales that were originally published together during the Islamic Golden Age. “Honestly dad, this isn`t a story, I see it more like a biography and a bizarre one of course. Begging a man with one thousand and one stories not to die, is funny. Would you please tell me a story of its own in its own originality? Junior pleaded at the end and for the second time. “But son, I must tell you something. Scheherazade according to myth was a fictional character. A make believe. That is an imaginary character” While laughing with her husband.

Before there were doors between worlds, there were stories. They whispered from hearth to hearth and ship to ship— of wolves that ran like midnight wind, of foxes with nine tails and nine more tricks beyond that, of fae who looked like carved moonlight and smiled like knives. Humans loved those stories—as long as they stayed in books and bedtime. The moment a story breathed, the moment a pair of eyes glinted from a tree line or a shadow stepped out of the corner of a room, humans did what humans do best when they’re afraid.

Some stories started with hate. This one ended with everything.