Lizzie has the feeling of being watched sometimes but in her case the stalker died in her house! The ghost names Oliver taunts her relentlessly and is out for her hand in unholy matrimony! Will she become his boo? Or send him back to the veil?

What happens when two worlds collide. A runner and a hi-caste K-sec Lieutenant officer run into each other after faith has been in prison for 2 years.

Andrea Caputo was a girl who worked as a chef at Serra Restaurant, her parents died and left her and her little sister sick sister alone, one day coincidence brings her and Luca Serra the leader of one of the biggest Italian Mafia together, but also the coincidence has once brought her with the FBI agent Owen Jones when she's put between her little sister and prison what is she going to do?

Luca Serra, one of the most feared Mafia Capos, everyone who dared to say no to him ended up dead, but one day he puts his sight on the best chef at his restaurant, Andrea Caputo when he knew about her sister, he took advantage of her, but what will happen when he finds out that she has been arrested.

Owen Jones, one of the best FBI agents, he was an orphan until one day, a loving family who couldn't have kids, adopted him, but they were killed when he was 18 years old and he knew who was responsible for that so he decided to go after them and became an FBI agent, but what will happen when life gets him and Andrea Caputo together.

The black Buick that Rhio drove was improperly left at the garage entrance. Its bumpers had been dented hugely and the headlights broken. One of the wheels had deflated and the mirrors were scratched badly at the left side.  
Sya stood patiently by the mansion's main door as she waited for us to arrive.  
"Where's Rhio?" Elthon grunted.  
"Locked in his room. I was worried when he came back here very angry," Sya handed me the sling of household keys but I knew very well which one opens Rhio's room. "I wouldn't interfere but I think you needed to talk to him." 
Above the stairs, a faint smashing of glasses could be heard. 
Rhio's men were lined in a barricade against his door. Even Sya or any of the housemaids couldn't enter the room. But it was a useless thought if he believed his men would obey him more than us.  
The lights inside were turned off but the smell of liquor reeked. And when the place was lit, all that used to be his bedroom was messily in shambles. Bottles lay shattered on the floor and the tall wall mirrors were broken. 
A trail of blood in the carpet led to his wounded fingers. The handsomely calm but mad face he sported earlier was a few more shades darker now.  
Elthon dismissed everyone and locked the door.  
"Coward…" I blurted as I approached and pressed a finger against Rhio's chest. "At least man up and be honest with your feelings." 
He remained silent for a moment. 
"Feelings? How could you even know what I feel?" he was indifferently staring at the star-filled sky outside the opened balcony. "She's pathetically happy now…"  
"She's getting married!" He shoved off my hand weakly, "Whatever I feel for her is useless now." 
Good Lord, he finally admitted!   

Sena Mangampo Copyright Property

Votes, Reviews  and Comments are warmly accepted and welcome. Thank you so much!


What if one day you met the most famous Woman Hater? 

Lock with him one night. And turns to be your husband till the rest of your life... 

Will you hate him?

https://youtu.be/K60cIKV9jQE
The bedroom was a solid seven square meters. A large set of bow windows with five panes each 2 meters tall. Outside of each of these east facing views, was a camera, peering inside. The east facing was an important part of this set up. Other than a small square in front of the cameras, the entire pane was covered in an odd shimmering plastic Nick found online. When the sun shines through, every morning that it's not cloudy, a vibrant cascade of rainbows would flood the room, and cover anyone and anything with the full spectrum of visible light.
The ceiling was over three meters high with two cameras hanging above the bed. Microphones were in the best places for catching the acoustics of the room. The carpet was white, as were all of the linens which dressed the bed and it's pillows. On either side of the bed was space for a white night stand and comfortable white chairs.
On the door, opposite the window, was more white paint, like that which covered the walls. These walls were only an inner wall. In between the white inner wall and the actual wall of the room, was about two and a half feet of space. In these three walls, were one way mirrors, and behind them, were more cameras.
In total, there were 24 cameras. Behind one set of them on the southern wall was the editing room. There was a full wall of monitors, which could view all 24 angles. The computer system would not just save all the video files, and run all of the editing software, and it would also trigger the start of recording, the moment the door to the bedroom closed.
The Rainbow Bedroom was Nick's idea from the start. Sure, Steve did suggest 24 cameras rather than 16, so it seemed like it was worth it in the initial test runs. He could use the videos to show the same moment, from every side, except from below. It was all Nick had wanted. An absolutely perfect set, in which to make erotic art. He wanted to show it off to everyone. Nick felt the room was a canvas, and the sun would bring the color.
Nick posted many ads on Craigslist and the like, offering double what some studios were offering for a day's worth of work. The minimum was always $650. Some places would offer a little more. But no one in the area was paying $700 a day, just for solo work, and $1500 for sex in film.
Nick's first interview was with long time professional burlesque dancer, stripper and porn-star, nicknamed, KitKat. She had been in the industry since she was eight-teen, and was now, a sensual diva who was often looked upon as the second coming of Bettie Page. She was in the area already, doing a "Thank You" tour through the east coast clubs, for her fans.
She was met at the door by Charlotte, the professional face of Four Suits in the reception office. "Welcome, thank you so much for coming so early today." Charlotte offers KitKat some refreshments, KitKat politely accepts sparkling water. There is some further polite conversation, along with Charlotte going over the basic paperwork and processing of legal documents and payment options for the contract work being done, which included an option to be paid in bitcoin. Eventually they finished up and Nick was summoned to bring her back for the interview portion.
Nick thanked her again for coming in as they entered his office. He then offered her a seat on the couch and sat on the other side of it. He liked the idea of a more intimate conversation. "I'm not a fan of most interview porn." He says.
"Really?" She asks, "What about it? I mean, this is, that, correct?"
"Yes and no," Nick explains, "There tends to be a moment where the interviewer asks the lady to undress and they examine her. They grope her, for firm breasts and bottom. It reminds me of a slave auction, so much so, that I don't have it as a part of the process."
"Well, it's no hang up for me either way, but that is an interesting take I've never considered." KitKat replied.
"Would you like to begin?" Nick asks, "Sure!" she responds. Nick pulled out a tiny remote and pushed the REC button on it. A tiny red light shone from the camera.
They did all the basics, Nick had a list of questions he went over, to help the audience get to know the model, as many men appreciated hearing about the past work of these ladies. They had a long conversation about her humble beginnings, her personal fascination with Bettie Page, her unused bachelors degree in computer sciences, and her current tour, among a number of other things. As the half hour mark approached, Nick began winding down the interview, but before he knew it, 45 minutes in total had passed, and they were at peak saturation of rainbows in the bedroom.

A relatable escape from these crazy times in new book form!

A young woman trying to find herself, creates erotic art with a divorced producer who gets everything he ever wanted, after meeting the star of his new art project. 

Set to and inspired by the music of Hey Violet.

Playlist of music, which fits the name and theme of each chapter:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJbHxS5Do2MjaKCLWgNrmhIv3kCmX4Gj8

Rated Mature/NSFW

Don’t forget to check out Hey Violet’s latest song, Friends Like This https://youtu.be/hao4x_zzbvY

Dedicated, with my undying love, to Rena Lovelis. (She asked for this in a retweet)

"Hayden? You around?" I asked loudly, hoping maybe he was just sleeping or something. But there was no answer, the place was silent, aside from the faint sound pollution coming from the downtown hub.

Should I even be snooping around? I second guessed myself as my conscience weighed over me. I know it wasn't in my place to intrude, but he did hand over his house keys to me, which means he should have been ready for me to browse around, right? Well, it is easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission, I thought to myself as I continued to circle around the doors.

I hesitantly opened one of the doors to reveal grant bathroom that was much bigger and fancier than the one I showered in last time. The room was similar to the rest of the floor, where there were windows starting from the walls all the way across the ceiling, in fact, the only walls were on the same side as the door that I came through. I fully emersed myself into this beautiful and brightly lit bathroom, how does Hayden do his business here with literally no privacy? Surely, there were translucent curtains that neatly tucked away to the sides on the glass walls, but if you really wanted to see something, it wasn't that hard.

"He should be glad he lives on the top floor and that there's not many high rises around campus," I scoffed. There's no way I would be comfortable bathing naked fully out in the open like this, but I guess for someone like Hayden, this was no big deal.

The sink was probably the fanciest structure out of all, for it was located at the center of the room stretching vertically. I walked closer to inspect the entire sink, there were three rustic looking sinks in total built within a long table-top structure. It was much like an island you would see in bigger kitchens, but usually, sinks aren't placed in the middle of a bathroom. The three corresponding mirrors to each sink had incorporated strips of lighting around its edges. These same mirrors were supported by a single metal pole from the bottom of the mirrors connecting to the middle of the sink, where the mysterious looking tap is located. Upon further inspection, I realized that the sink was double-sided, both sides of the mirror were fully functioning along with the sink that was carved evenly on the island. In addition, the tap had sprouted water much like a fountain instead of a single stream, I sighed at this lavish detail, why was this even necessary?

I continued to browse the bathroom and walked behind the sink to meet a full standalone massage tub, stretched along the far glass walls across from the door I entered, the city view was directly visible from where I was standing. Further behind me to the right was a separate large shower space fitted perfectly to the side. Four or five people could probably shower there at the same time, not that it would happen, but that's how big the shower space was. Between the tub and the shower, folded towels upon towels among other bathroom essentials were placed neatly inside shelves of an aristocratic-looking cabinet that was twice as wide as my height.

I looked down to see a huge bath mat placed near the entrance where I came inside, and vaguely remembered that they felt like memory foam. Nevertheless, the entire floor was furnished in what was probably really expensive granite that ran across the room, they weren't tiles at all, the entire floor was smooth marble. The renovators must have put so much thought into this room, as there were strategically placed drains and small dents on the floor that helped to drain water if needed. The place was literally a giant bathroom within a bathroom, and how Hayden Whitehall manages to use this on a daily basis is beyond me.

After thoroughly inspecting the bathroom, I found myself getting curious next to the left wall that appeared to be darker than the rest of the brightly lighted glass walls. It was the only wall that was actually covered by the translucent, white curtains. So it was certainly to my surprise when I opened the curtains to see that the same glass wall was connected to Hayden's actual bedroom, and there was a connecting glass door between the two rooms. So it was to no one's surprise that I opened the door and walked into Hayden's room.

"Well, what do we have here?" I said out loud as I walked into Hayden's giant room. It was a similar structure compared to his bathroom with glass walls and ceilings all around except for the entrance, but nonetheless, it was a simplistic room.

The California King sized bed was placed in the middle of the room, which ironically is a personification of Hayden's actual ego. The bedding mostly consisted of navy blue and dark grey colours, and it certainly looked comfortable all around. Hayden also had a large office desk placed at the far wall, where large piles of paperwork and an expensive looking desktop computer were located. Further to the left of the room was a giant TV mounted over a stand, with various different gaming consoles and games laying around. Closer to the actual solid wall and was an open door which was a walk-in closet. Other than the notable furniture, Hayden Whitehall surprisingly had a simple room.

 I continued to walk around the room but eventually allowed myself to sit on Hayden's bed. It was memory foam, so it was to nobody's surprise that I would get any chance I get to at least try and sit on it. It was his fault that he allowed me inside his house anyway, I justified. 

"You know what, fuck him for not being here and making me wait," I said to myself as I fully laid down on the bed, my entire body slightly sinking as the soft bedding embraced me.

It was crazy to think that one man owned this entire two floors of living space, and to be honest nobody needs that much space anyway. But I had to admit, this place was beautiful and certainly makes the place so much homier than my initial impression of the place. I wonder if Hayden had enough lights to light up the room after sunset? He probably does, but it didn't matter, his bed was so comfy, and I didn't want to move at all.

And so I didn't move, I laid on his bed until I fell soundly asleep because I could.

-----

A/N: Last week, this novel's highest power ranking was at 102! This is insane, I've never been this close to the top 100! Let's keep it up everyone and thanks so much for the support!!!

I also have a discord server now so come to talk to me: https://discord.gg/dfHrhGh

Also I am now on *******! Not sure how links work but it's here: https://www.*******.com/clover

Sienna was dirt poor. 

Struggling to pay off her debts, every waking moment became an uphill battle between school and work. Until one fated opportunity is given to her by pure, dumb chance. Sienna decides it is the perfect timing to open her blabbermouth and initiate an argument with the notorious Hayden Whitehall. 

Unexpectedly, she is deceived and unwillingly dragged into the dramatic lifestyle of the elite and powerful and chosen as a candidate for The Chrysalis Project - a top-secret transformation program operated by the institution to turn commoners with troubled pasts into the elites' "playthings". In her attempts to uncover the truth, Sienna slowly grows more affectionate towards the same man that had placed her in the midst of chaos in the first place. 

There is more to the turn of events than it may appear, and soon Sienna will uncover that the real enemy is perhaps not Hayden Whitehall, but other powerful forces in play.


Claudius. The monster who'd kidnapped Katelina, attacked her, tried to kill her.
And this was his house?
Jorick laid a reassuring hand on her arm. "Yes, but you don't need to worry, little one. He's dead. You saw it yourself." He came to a stop in the middle of the room and gave her a reassuring smile. "This was his 'Summer Home', or his retreat. Whenever he got bored he'd come here, sometimes only for days and sometimes for years at a time. He usually brought most of his coven and a host of friends."
Jorick shone the light around the cavernous entrance hall. Katelina did the same. The beams bounced off of polished marble floors and huge crystal chandeliers. Formidable white columns rose to the ridiculously high ceiling, their bases flanked in gold. A matching pair of curving staircases, garishly carpeted in red, sat at the far end of the room, connected by a balcony that ran the width of the hall.
"Holy shit," Katelina muttered. "This is like something on TV."
"Yes, a bit clich¨¦. Claudius enjoyed that. He had a flair for drama but he lacked originality. I'm sure you've noticed that in his other dens."
"The one Kateesha took over was different."
Jorick smirked. "Maybe to you, but it's classic subterranean dungeon den."
Katelina bit her lip to keep from commenting that he sounded like something from a twisted version of the Home and Garden Network: "Stylish Crypts of the Undead." She was sure that could be a catchy show.
"Shall we?" he asked again, and again she nodded. He led her between the staircases and through a set of French doors. Inside, a wall of mirrors and shot their light back at them. Large glimmering chandeliers hung from the high, carved ceiling to catch the refracted light and throw it around, illuminating a giant ballroom; complete with parquet floor and suits of armor at strategic intervals. A bank of French doors graced the farthest wall and led out onto what was probably a veranda. The wall opposite the mirrors was painted in complicated murals, depicting strange scenes that looked familiar, yet skewed. 
Katelina caught her breath as she stared at the murals, but Jorick only chuckled. "I told you he wasn't very imaginative." He pointed to the wall. "There's Adam and Eve and Lilith, if you even believe in that story." 
She followed his gesture to see a man and woman holding a blood red apple, while a beautiful vampiress stared at them from behind a twisted tree. Katelina' eyes locked with the painted eyes of the vampiress. The mural was almost disturbing in its clarity and the illusion of reality made her shiver. "Wasn't Lilith supposed to be Adam's first wife or something like that?"
"Yes, something like that." Jorick snorted in contempt. "You'll find she's very popular among some of the Old Ones. At one time it was believed she was the Great Mother of the vampire race. I find it all a bit ridiculous myself."
She tore her eyes away from the painting and looked at Jorick. The reflected light splashed across half of his face and left the other half in deep shadow; half dark, half light, much the way she sometimes thought of him. "You don't believe in God, do you?" 
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his voice bitter. "I don't deny that God may exist but, if he does, he does not protect my kind."
She cocked her head to one side and studied him. "Why? If God created everything, then he created vampires. Why would you be any more eternally damned than the rest of us?"
A smile stretched across his full lips, though it held no mirth. "And why would God create a vampire?" Before she could answer he added, "Let's not stand here quoting old legends. Come, I want to check the cellars. With Claudius dead, there's a chance that rogues may be nesting here. I have no doubt that Kale will eventually take possession of this den."
"Why would he?"
Jorick seemed to choose his words. "When Kateesha killed Claudius it became her property, and when she died it should have gone to the vampire who claimed her heart. Since it was agreed that no one claimed the coven, that means no one claimed her possessions. As you know, Kale collected up most of the vampires that were left from her coven, and as he used to belong to Claudius, I imagine he will eventually claim all of Claudius' property. Though I doubt he plans to start trouble, I'd rather he gain no new followers."
"Is that why we're here?" 
"One reason."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what's the other?"
He winked. "To explore, of course. How many mansions have you been in?"
They made their way to the wall of mirrors and stopped at a calculated spot. Jorick ran his hand along the wall, as if feeling for something. Suddenly, a look of satisfaction filled his eyes and the mirror sprang aside to reveal a dark, narrow stairway. "You'll notice the dramatics again."
He led the way down the stairs and Katelina followed, cringing. Despite Jorick's cheerful cellar, she had a general superstition of dark underground rooms, and the suggestion of "nesting rogues" didn't help.
The gloom in the cellar seemed thicker than the darkness upstairs and their flashlight beams seemed narrower. Jorick stopped at the foot of the stairs and sniffed before he plunged forward. The stone room was large and filled with ten plain smooth coffins. "For his personal army," Jorick explained. "In case of attack they'd be killed first."
She nodded and flashed her light around, uncovering a doorway that sat in the farthest wall. Jorick led her to it, still sniffing, and they found themselves in another room that held ten more coffins. Their corners were reinforced with silver and shining silver crosses decorated the lids.
"For the rest of the coven and the guests." Jorick pointed to doors that flanked either side of the room. "As are those. He could house quite a few, it appears."
He checked the side rooms while Katelina added up how many vampires had been living off and on just a stone's throw from her hometown. The numbers made her shiver.
With the rooms checked, Jorick led her through the last doorway. The third room was different from the others. Instead of simple stone, the walls were hung with heavy crosses. In the center was a large carved dais, resembling an altar. On it sat an intricate coffin made of a dark shiny wood and accented with gold. Surrounding it were five coffins that, though ornate, looked plain when compared to the one in the center. One of the five was on a smaller platform, directly in front of the elaborate affair, while the others sat on the floor, two on each side.
"That would be Claudius'." Jorick indicated the largest, though he needn't have bothered. He pointed to the smaller dais. "That would be Arowenia's, and I imagine those belonged to his three personal servants and Troy, who I'm certain you'll remember." Though the words were flip, both his bitter tone and tight jaw proved they weren't meant to be.
Katelina shuddered at the mention of Troy's name and evil memories flashed through her mind. She wasn't surprised that he spent his time lurking in a dark basement.
"It's more theatrical," Jorick commented to her thoughts. "Claudius couldn't be a 'proper' vampire with a bedroom, now could he?" He gave her a teasing wink, then turned serious. "However, it appears that someone else has decided to set up shop, as I suspected."
 "Where?" She turned a panicked circle, expecting a vampire to leap from the shadows.
"They're gone at the moment." Despite his words, he tightened his grip on her hand. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. "There are three. Two males and a female. It's no one I recognize, which may or may not be good."
She started to ask how he knew, but the answer was obvious. Of course he could smell them. Why not?




Joleene Naylor is the author of the glitter-less Amaranthine vampire universe, a world where vampires aren't for children. Comprised of a main series, a standalone prequel, and several short story collections, she has plans to continue expanding with a trilogy and standalone novels. 
In her spare time, Joleene is a freelance book cover designer and for-fun photographer. She maintains several blogs, full of odd ramblings, and occasionally updates her website at JoleeneNaylor.com. In what little time is left, she watches anime, plays PokemonGo, and works on her crooked Victorian house in Villisca, Iowa. Between her husband, family, and pets, she is never lonely, in fact, quite the opposite. Should she disappear, one might look for her on a beach in Tahiti, sipping a tropical drink and wearing a disguise. 

Pulled into a world of darkness, Katelina's fate becomes intertwined with that of Jorick, a dark, enigmatic vampire. To stay by his side, she must navigate intrigue, terror and bloodshed as they are drawn from one battle to another. Dreams of peace seem elusive, and are complicated by mysterious vampires, old relics, and an ancient master. Join Katelina and Jorick in a world where vampires don't sparkle and night is eternal.

@International_Pen

 

((( ERIEZ )))

 

Claire went suddenly pale and the rest looked at me with questioning brows. Any woman in love would have gladly answered fast or even blush. But she was anxiously speechless.  

 

Am I right to think she's not happy with their relationship? Was she really in love with Derick? 

 

"I mean, she must have had a lot of suitor. And there must be something she found in you that she didn't see in all the men that took interest in her," I laughed gently at the budding tension.

 

"Anyway, let's get back to business. I hope you didn't take my words badly." 

 

We stayed for a while but left before it has gotten midnight. Zhio must have had ran wild in anger again so we needed to go back home immediately. 

 

The black Buick that Zhio drove was improperly left at the garage entrance. Its bumpers had been dented hugely and the headlights broken. One of the wheels had deflated and the mirrors were scratched badly at the left side.  

Sya stood patiently by the mansion's main door as she waited for us to arrive.  

 

"Where's Zhio?" Wenziel grunted.  

 

"Locked in his room. I was worried when he came back here very angry," Sya handed me the sling of household keys but I knew very well which one opens Zhio's room. 

 

"I wouldn't interfere but I think you needed to talk to him." 

 

Above the stairs, a faint smashing of glasses could be heard. 

 

Zhio's men were lined in a barricade against his door. Even Sya or any of the housemaids couldn't enter the room. But it was a useless thought if he believed his men would obey him more than us.  

 

The lights inside were turned off but the smell of liquor reeked. And when the place was lit, all that used to be his bedroom was messily in shambles. Bottles lay shattered on the floor and the tall wall mirrors were broken. 

 

A trail of blood in the carpet led to his wounded fingers. The handsomely calm but mad face he sported earlier was a few more shades darker now.  

 

Wenziel dismissed everyone and locked the door.  

 

"Coward…" I blurted as I approached and pressed a finger against Zhio's chest. "At least man up and be honest with your feelings." 

 

He remained silent for a moment. 

 

"Feelings? How could you even know what I feel?" he was indifferently staring at the star-filled sky outside the opened balcony. 

 

"She's pathetically happy now…" 

 

"She's getting married!" He shoved off my hand weakly, "Whatever I feel for her is useless now." 

 

Good Lord, he finally admitted!  

 

I smiled secretly but Wenziel didn't bother to hide his smirk. After the few years we spent waiting, we heard a miracle.  

 

James, your boy's in love... 

 

"There's always a chance. And you'll just hate yourself more if you let this pass," my words were not more than a whisper, "Don't let your doubts defeat you. Do something to get her before it's too late." 

 

I knew he needed some time. But we'll keep our hands moving while he's still drowning himself in sadness. We'll make their paths cross no matter how fate forbids. 

I took one final look at him before leaving.

 

"…And besides, a Zel Cantheliz always gets whatever he want…" 

 

 

@International_Pen

Desiree gasped, and raised a hand to her mouth in shock. Where her bungalow had previously stood, there was now a large half-timbered building. She frowned in confusion. Was she going mad? Her home had been a simple one-storey bungalow with plain, whitewashed walls, identical to the other buildings in Walnut Close. But what stood before her was a large, three-storey building, with a black timber frame surrounding a pale plaster infill. As she gazed upon this new structure, she wondered where it had come from, and what had happened to her bungalow.
She looked around. There still did not seem to have been any reaction at all from any of her neighbours. Surely they must all have heard the impact as the falling piece of sky crashed into her bungalow? Had not one of them even looked out of a window to see what was going on?
But the cul-de-sac was still deserted. Not one of her neighbours had emerged from their own modern semi-detached house to investigate the loud crash. Not one of them was staring in horror at the debris that now littered the road. Not one of them had rushed out to check that she was alright.
She frowned angrily, annoyed by the implication that none of her neighbours cared about her well-being. What if the falling piece of sky had destroyed their home? She would certainly have rushed out of her home to check that they were alright, and to offer any assistance she could. She sighed. Perhaps they were all too worried about what would happen if they were seen outside during the day. But surely the authorities would be understanding, given the circumstances?
She shook her head. Confusing thoughts were hurtling around her head. The bungalow had been destroyed. Her bungalow! The sky was falling in. The sky! Her head was pounding, and things were not making any sense, so she closed her eyes and tried to think rationally.
How could the sky crack? It was the sky, not a glass bowl! How could a piece fall from the sky and destroy her home? That was clearly a ridiculous notion. Even if the sky were actually a glass bowl that had cracked, a small piece of glass would not be enough to completely destroy her home. And where had this large timber-framed building come from?
She felt a sudden gust of wind, and heard the soft rustling sound of the leaves in the trees. It sounded like they were whispering furtively among themselves. Her head pounded. Was this all a delusion brought on by her headache?
Desiree opened her eyes, and looked around once more. There was a nagging thought in the back of her mind. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there seemed to be something different about the world. She looked upwards, confused. There were no cracks in the sky. How could there be? How could she have imagined that there were? Now she was absolutely certain that she was going mad.
She sighed in resignation, and looked around at the fragments of debris that were scattered across the road. Clearly, something bad had happened. Had something crashed into her home? Or was she imagining the debris as well?
She rubber her temples. Her headache was still pounding away. She tried to concentrate, and focussed on the large timber-framed building that stood before her. As she cast her eyes over the structure, taking in every structural and ornamental detail, a wave of relief washed over her. The slate roof was still intact, and the timber frames did not appear to have suffered any structural damage. None of the windows appeared to have been broken. There was some minor damage to the plaster infill, but that could easily be fixed. Whatever it was that had fallen from the sky, it didn't appear to have caused any serious damage to her home.
Rubbing her forehead once more, she stumbled wearily along the path leading to the front door of her house. She stepped absent-mindedly over the small pieces of debris that were scattered across the path. As she opened the door and stepped inside, these small fragments of brick, tile, plaster, and glass all seemed to melt into the ground, as if they were cubes of ice left outside on a hot summer day.
Desiree closed the door and leant wearily against it. Her head was still throbbing. She wasn't certain that she knew what was going on any more, or even if she believed what she had seen with her own eyes. She sank to the floor in despair, and placed her head in her hands. Was this what going mad felt like?
Inhaling deeply, she attempted to pull together all the disparate thoughts that were running around in her head, to try to make sense of everything that had happened. Had she seen cracks form in the sky, or had she imagined it? If the cracks had been real, what had happened to them? Did a piece of the sky fall to the ground, or had she imagined that as well? And why was there still that nagging thought in the back of her mind that something had somehow changed?
She clambered unsteadily to her feet, using the door handle as a support, and staggered into the front room. She carefully made her way around the coffee table, worried that she might collapse at any moment, and slumped into her rocking chair. Still breathing deeply, she reached forward and picked up her mug. She took a sip of the tea. It was stone cold. She sighed with disappointment, and struggled to her feet.
She noticed that the book she had been reading was lying on the floor next to the fireplace. She groaned as she bent down to pick it up. Her back still hurt from her earlier fall.
As she stood back up, still groaning, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small mirror above the fireplace. She frowned. Something wasn't right. She stared at her reflection for a moment, puzzled. Certainly it was her. 45 years old. Dark skin. brown eyes. Long black hair. And yet, there was something not quite right. Weren't there pictures above the fireplace?
She looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in order. Her rocking chair sat next to the coffee table, opposite the brown leather couch that lay against the wall to her left. The wall to her right contained the sooty, blackened fireplace with its ornate mahogany surround. Within the fireplace sat a small mound of chopped wood, ready should she ever need to light the fire for warmth. Directly in front of her, against the back wall, sat the ornately carved oak sideboard and the solid oak bookcase stuffed with tomes on a variety of different subjects.
She frowned. There was definitely something not quite right about the room, but she couldn't work out what it was. She glanced down at the book in her hand, and smiled ruefully. Sighing deeply, she tossed the book on to her rocking chair and headed out of the room, along the hallway, and into the kitchen.
She tipped the contents of her mug into the kitchen sink. As the cold tea swirled down the plug-hole with a soft gurgling sound, she shuffled wearily over to the worktop behind the door, where the kettle stood waiting to be used. She placed her mug on the worktop, and retrieved a fresh tea bag from the nearby caddy. She dropped this into the empty mug, and inspected the kettle. There was clearly not enough water left to make a mug of tea.
She picked up the kettle with a mournful sigh, and shuffled back over to the sink. Holding the kettle under the cold water tap, she filled it with just enough water for a fresh mug of tea. A thought suddenly occurred to her as she shuffled back across the kitchen. Why do kitchen sinks have separate hot and cold taps? Surely having a single tap would be better? That way, you could easily mix hot and cold water to get the temperature you wanted.
She placed the kettle back on the worktop and switched it on. Suddenly frowning again, she looked back at the sink. She could have sworn that her kitchen did have a mixer tap. But the evidence was there before her eyes. She shook her head sorrowfully. She must still be imagining things. Like the cracks in the sky earlier. Had it all been brought on by her headache? 
She looked around, frowning once more. She was beginning to get the same feeling in the kitchen as in the front room. Something was not quite right. For one thing, she couldn't remember where she had put the painkillers. She pulled open the nearest drawer, and peered inside. There were a variety of items within the drawer; batteries, food bags, even a torch. But no painkillers. She rooted through the other drawers in the kitchen, her search becoming ever more frantic. Was she losing her mind? It seemed that she was losing her memory, at least.
Soon she had searched through all the drawers in the kitchen, without locating any painkillers. She was certain that she had some left, that she hadn't already used the last ones. In desperation, she flung open the door of the cupboard containing the glassware and other drinking vessels. Ah! There they were! Nestling behind one of the spare mugs. She shook her head, a mix of relief and confusion etched on her face. What on earth had possessed her to hide the painkillers there?
As she retrieved the small box of pills from their hiding place, she sighed in resignation. Perhaps this was just another side-effect of her headache. Or perhaps she was going mad. Either way, there wasn't much she could do apart from take some painkillers and wait for her headache to subside. She opened the box and tipped two small white pills out on to the worktop, before placing the box back in its hiding place among the tumblers and mugs.
While she waited for the kettle to boil, she leaned wearily against the worktop and looked around the kitchen. Perhaps if she worked out what was wrong in here, she would be able to work out what was wrong in the front room as well.
It was a reasonably well-appointed kitchen, with a free-standing gas cooker and large fridge-freezer. The sink sat in the corner by the window, separated from the cooker by a small draining board. Jars of herbs and spices lined the worktops that ran along two of the walls. Various culinary implements hung from hooks on the wall. Some of them she had rarely used. Others she barely recognised. She sighed again. She still couldn't work out exactly what it was that was wrong. She turned and glared at the kettle. It seemed to be taking a long time to boil.
Sighing impatiently, she looked out of the kitchen window. The garden outside was in need of some attention. She screwed her face up and tried to remember when Martin, the gardener, was next due to come round. It must be in the next couple of days, judging by the length of the grass, but she couldn't remember exactly when. She sighed again, and looked back at the kettle. It still hadn't boiled. Why was it taking so long?
Suddenly, she froze. She was sure there had been another splintering sound, similar to the previous ones only much quieter. It had seemed to come from one of the rooms upstairs. A puzzled expression crossed her face. But her home was a bungalow, wasn't it?
She moaned in anguish and shook her head violently from side to side, to try to banish the confusing thoughts that were flooding her mind. Of course her home wasn't a bungalow. Her home was a large three-storey house. Why was she imagining that it was a bungalow?
She sighed and rubbed her temples again. If only this blasted headache would go away, she would be able to concentrate properly. She thought she had better go and investigate this latest noise. In any case, the kettle still hadn't boiled yet.
She strode purposefully out of the kitchen, heading along the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. As she passed the line of family photographs that hung on the wall, they started to sway gently in the light breeze generated by her passage. In the front room, the rocking chair started to move slowly back and forth, creaking softly with each change in direction.
She tilted her head to one side as she climbed the stairs, listening for any further noises. But it was still deathly quiet. She stopped at the top of the stairs, and looked out of the window. The branches of the nearby trees were swaying gently in the breeze, but she could not hear any birds singing, or any sounds of traffic on the nearby main road.
She groaned. Maybe the pounding of her headache was drowning out all other sounds in her head. She rubbed her forehead, and pushed open the door to the bathroom. She glanced inside. Everything appeared to be in good order. Nothing was broken. She pulled the door shut behind her, and moved along the landing towards her daughter's bedroom. She could now hear a soft, fluttering sound, like a piece of loose fabric flapping in the wind.
She pushed open the door, and looked inside. The bedroom had lain empty for the past few months, as her daughter was away at university. She looked around the room. There was a thin layer of dust on every surface, but nothing appeared to be broken, or even out-of-place. She frowned as she looked at the large mirror on the side wall. Behind the mirror, the paint was flaking off the wall, in places revealing the bare brickwork. She had intended to repaint the entire wall at some point, but had never quite got around to it.
She turned and walked out of her daughter's bedroom, closing the door behind her. She pushed open the door of her own bedroom, and peered inside. The room was dark. She was briefly overcome with panic, as she wondered why the room was dark, and what terrors were waiting for her in the darkness.
She took a step backwards, and the feeling of panic subsided as quickly as it had arrived. She shook her head and tutted, chastising herself for her gullibility. Get a grip, Desiree! She had simply forgotten to open the curtain that morning. She strode purposefully over to the window and pulled the curtain back.
Light flooded into the room. She looked around, and sighed with relief. Nothing appeared to have been broken. The mirror on the wall was crooked, so she straightened it. The ornamental owl on the bedside table was facing the wrong way, so she turned it around. Nothing else seemed to be out-of-place, so she turned and headed out of the room.
As she moved along the landing and approached the door to her mother's bedroom, the fluttering sound became louder. Nervously, she gently pushed at the door, suddenly worried that a window had broken and a bird had flown into the room.
The door swung gently open, and she hesitantly looked into the room. There didn't appear to be any birds flying about, or any loose pieces of fabric flapping in the breeze. But the fluttering sound definitely seemed to be coming from within the room.
She cautiously entered her mother's bedroom, and looked around. The window was thankfully not broken. She couldn't see anything else that could have caused the earlier splintering sound, nor anything that could be causing the fluttering sound that seemed to echo around the room.
She shivered, although there was no breeze in the room. Just standing in her mother's bedroom made her uneasy. As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror on the wall. She stopped, as if frozen in place. The fluttering sound seemed to be emanating from the mirror itself. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, it seemed to move and shimmer, like a piece of fabric caught in a stiff breeze.
She blinked, and the image reflected in the mirror suddenly changed. She was no longer staring at her own reflection, but an image of her mother. She frowned uncertainly. For some reason, that seemed to make sense. She was in her mother's bedroom, after all. But how could that make sense? Mirrors reflect what is there, in the room. She sighed with despair. Maybe she was going mad after all. 
She glared suspiciously at the reflected image of her mother. Her mother seemed to smile back at her. Nervously, she approached the mirror and placed her hand lightly on its surface. Her mother did the same. The mirror seemed to vibrate in response to her touch, or to her mother's touch. One or the other.
Ripples began to form on the surface of the mirror, radiating outwards from her hand. She frowned. She knew that these ripples were no more than an illusion, the light playing tricks on her mind. Like the reflection of her mother. She was seeing things that clearly were not there. She could feel the mirror beneath her hand, a simple sheet of crystalline glass, solid and unyielding.
As the ripples moved back and forth across the surface of the mirror, they began to merge together, forming a regular, rhythmic oscillation. The reflected image of her mother warped under this oscillation, changing shape like a reflection in one of those distorting mirrors often found at funfairs. She thought she could hear her mother's voice, chiding her. "Be a good girl," the voice seemed to whisper.
She lifted her hand away from the mirror in shock. Almost instantly, the ripples faded from view, along with the reflection of her mother. In its place was an image of a sturdily-built man in his late forties, with dark brown skin, brown eyes, and tightly-cropped black hair. He was standing before a mirror in the hallway of his home, adjusting his tie.
Desiree smiled, and nodded in understanding. She knew what needed to be done.

Wildbridge was a sleepy town. Nothing much happened there. Well, not since... Martin. And that suited Serina just fine. But everything was about to change. Or had it already started changing, and all that was about to happen was that people were going to start noticing? Well, it's difficult not to notice when people start turning up dead. Murdered. Especially when you're a senior member of the Serious Crime Investigation team.

Meanwhile, many light years away on the non-aligned planet of Jahanna, changes were already afoot, and there were whispers of rebellion and revolution on the streets. But death is not far away here, either. As the well-oiled machinery of the bureaucracy begins to stutter and creak under the weight of murder and betrayal, just how far will the Council go to maintain the status quo?

How could the events in Wildbridge possibly have any bearing on Jahanna?

And what exactly happened on Bershevah?

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