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The Black Waters

Novel By: Doniekels

In an isolated church-run village lies a lake. In this lake are creatures that emerge every night and claim the faces of anyone who dares stand nearby. Raven, a seventeen year old orphan, then finds herself in the eyes of the council, who states that she is the curse that has brought death upon many victims. Now, she must outrun the villagers who want her dead and face the creatures in order to prove her innocence. As they say in the council; when the waters turn black, run as fast as you can. View table of contents...


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Submitted:Jul 25, 2014    Reads: 2    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

I turned to Gabrial, the one who knew all along, "why did you not speak my name?"

"I was ordered never to interefere," Gabrial didn't look me in the eye like a good little servant, just how father dearest liked it.

"Very well. Tell me, Gabrial, just how afraid are you?"

"Fear nearly paralyzes me."

Such words tickled me, "much to my father's pleasure. But what about mine?"

He carefully looked up, "you wish for something other than such?"

"Most certainly," I brought my lips to his ear, "I crave one's lust."

"Pleasure is not granted for the immortals," his knees were quivering, "we live forever, we die forever."

"What possibly makes you believe that I care for your comfort? Do you not understand the meaning of an eternal prison?"

"I cannot say I do."

I licked my lips. Though Gabrial had the capability of immortality, he was still very much mortal and very much ignorant; mortals believed that Hell was simply just a very hot place that only the wicked or thrust into. Such an assumption is dangerously untrue.

Those of Hell grip onto the mortals who rebell, the mortals who desire and believe they've done nothing wrong. But they have, for one cannot possibly change their thoughts. There are mortals who long to murder, to rape, to steal, but never do. They truly feel that if they never performed what their thoughts burned for, they are a good person. In Hell, it doesn't matter. You think it, you feel it, you're very well near doing so and that kind of evil is exactly what we crave. In Hell, the stench is unbearable to mortals, it is sulfer that never goes away. A soul becomes thirsty, painfully thirsty, and nothing can be done. You cannot cough, you cannot feel water on your tongue, and you cannot relieve yourself from the overwhelming burning sensation in your throat. In Hell, we tortue you and there is no healing, for it isn't your flesh that we rip apart, it's your soul.

Gabrial was mine for the taking, and this time I actually could have flesh because this one had no soul.

I grabbed him by his hair and down we all went.


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