Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 9

World consciousness 

Consciousness dimensional space

In a dimension both connected and disconnected from the world of mortals and other living beings there was a form.

It had existed for so long it had forgotten, but with beings like it, the age is never sure for before they come into consciousness they are simply an existence in the process of creation.

The being detached itself from its main body and formed another, it had been weakened so many times it had to separate itself to ensure its continual survival.

The beings before it were souls, fractured remnants of those who had lived and died. Some were so profoundly damaged, so utterly broken by their experiences, that they were mere flecks of consciousness, shimmering motes only able to cry out their grievances in disjointed wails and despairing cries. Others retained a semblance of their former selves, their identities clinging to them like tattered shrouds.

The being manifested as a male who had somewhat human features but his features, though undeniably masculine, were refined and possessed a captivating beauty that transcended mortal understanding. His form was impossibly tall, easily over thirty meters, sitting regally upon a throne meticulously crafted from the shattered remains of his own previously destroyed world core. A testament to a devastating past.

The cold fire that pulsed within the core had cracks running through it, exposing the molten green energy within. The vibrant color of the cosmic energy, a shade never seen in the mortal realm, blended seamlessly with the pitch-black outer layer, creating an mesmerizing display of contrasting forces.

His attire was an ancient, exquisitely embroidered gold Chinese robes from the eastern dynasties, resembling the raiment of an immortal emperor. It was complete with an elaborate head crown adorned with jade and pearls, with silky straight snow-white strands cascading down his back, reaching almost to the base of his spine. Fox-shaped eyes, rimmed with impossibly long lashes, brushed his perfectly sculpted cheekbones like the softest white feathers each time he blinked. Though such an action was unnecessary for his kind, he still did it, each time his eyes were opened exposing glowing silver orbs that stood out starkly against the endless black void that surrounded him.

He had consciously chosen this specific form because of her. He had observed her preferences, her unconscious desires, and noted her affinity for males with these traits and those wearing well-tailored suits, all with muscular builds.

He had been watching her, an unnoticed observer, from the moment she first floated in the silent void of space as a nascent soul, adrift and lost. He watched as she suddenly materialized in his world, drawn by an unknown force.

Initially, he had considered destroying her, dismissing her as just another invader seeking to exploit his weakened state. But curiosity, or perhaps something akin to hope, stayed his hand. He decided to watch, even entering the mortal world himself, adopting the guise of that man just so he could be closer, to understand her motives and perhaps, her potential.

A friend? Was that all he could be?

He wanted more, a connection that transcended the boundaries of existence, but he could only settle for reproduction in that borrowed body, even though he knew he could never truly have her. The eggs she had provided, infused with her unique essence, were good enough for now. The body he possessed, painstakingly crafted, was an excellent vessel, anyway he had carefully made it just to understand her more at the opportune time.

The power of belief, a fragile yet potent force, is something even those mired in dissatisfaction secretly crave, hoping for a sliver of success to latch onto. It was a fundamental aspect of humanity, a species so paradoxical that they were often inexplicably favored.

Resentment festered within the souls of those who yearned for justice, a justice eternally denied in their mortal lives. Now, they found themselves reliant on a single individual, one granted the extraordinary power to record their experiences for the world to witness, to potentially ignite a spark of empathy and action.

Their collective fury was immense, yet their power remained limited, barely sufficient to coalesce into a spectral aid, a second chance for her through a borrowed body, granting her one more opportunity to make a difference.

“Use us…” a voice echoed, filled with centuries of pain.

“We have suffered so…” another pleaded, the words heavy with unspoken tragedies.

“If we were the anchor of the world…” a third chimed in, a desperate offering of self.

“Unjust death!” a chorus cried, their voices a cacophony of righteous anger.

“They say I was the darling of heaven!” a woman lamented, the echo of a lost title lingering in the air.

“They said I could save a nation!” a regal voice boomed, a monument to shattered expectations.

“They made me bow my head!” a man snarled, the bitterness of betrayal coating his words.

“Such grievances!” the multitude roared, their discontent a palpable wave.

“We will sacrifice ourselves if she could avenge us!” they vowed, united in their desire for retribution.

“Power!”

“Strength!”

“Domination!”

“Willing…”

The World Consciousness, an ancient and weary entity, observed the spectral figures clamoring for vengeance, their desire to sacrifice their very essence to empower her a testament to her impact. “Do you think she is truly willing to bear this burden?” it questioned, its voice a low rumble that resonated through the ethereal plane.

“She wrote our stories as is, unflinchingly, authentically. She was the catalyst who helped us solidify our forms, to gain a semblance of understanding within this chaotic realm. It is only right that we repay our debt,” a calm voice reasoned, cutting through the clamor.

“You will become her, and she you. If you merge, she…” The World Consciousness hesitated, weighing the implications of such a profound union.

“With her, your world can have a chance to survive. It may be irrevocably altered, the beings dwelling upon it may suffer in unforeseen ways, but that is inconsequential. This is, after all, a trial, a crucible for those who crave power, a proving ground for resilience,” another soul declared, unwavering in its conviction.

The World Consciousness remained silent, the weight of its responsibility pressing heavily upon it. It had already expended a significant amount of energy, weakened by the relentless onslaught of the invaders. “The invaders will not cease their attacks until you collapse, until your very essence is extinguished. Books constitute your world, for that is what you chose as your form of existence, a testament to the power of stories,” one of the more lucid souls reminded it, but the World Consciousness remained absorbed in thought, grappling with the immense decision before it.

With a thought, it waved allowing the requests of the souls, first it will return to the world outside and sort the offspring, they will help anchor her to him.

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 8

Real world

Sarah Wu was a devoted fan of the celebrated author Vanity Saint Michaels, also affectionately known as Vanity Mi to her dedicated fanbase. She followed her works religiously, owning multiple editions of each book, before she had written in the fan forum to let them tune in on the interview.

Even though Sarah was a celebrated reporter on the weekly entertainment news show ‘Heatwave,’ where she interviewed various celebrities and delved into the latest industry buzz about them, her heart belonged to literature.

Now, sitting across from her was the famous editor and manager of her deceased favourite author, Mr. Wen. He was a literary titan in his own right, having discovered and nurtured Vanity Mi’s talent.

That night, alone in her apartment after reading the news of Vanity Mi’s passing, she had cried heartbreakingly in a private online fan group, sharing her grief with fellow admirers.

Fuelled by a mix of sorrow and professional ambition, she had then requested to be the one in charge of interviewing editor Wen, seeing it as a sacred duty.

Sarah Wu made sure her makeup was flawless and her pants suit was perfectly pressed before standing and walking down the narrow, brightly lit hallway to the television set.

“Miss Wu, remember that editor Wen is in a sensitive state; he has just flown in this morning and has not yet had a chance to properly grieve—”

Sarah Wu turned and looked at the young, nervous assistant who wanted to give her some last-minute advice. She was a tall woman and wearing impractical eight-inch kitten toe heels that seemed to wobble slightly with each step.

The calf-length pencil skirt swayed in tandem with her hips as she walked, but was as still as a statue when she stood now, clearly intimidating.

“Miss Ken, I am twenty-five not twelve, I know what I’m doing.” With those words, delivered with a dismissive wave of her hand, Sarah Wu walked ahead, her own heels mutedly clicking  on the carpeted floor hips and skirt swaying in tendem.

When she entered the studio, she saw a handsome man sitting silently in the designated chair. His silver-grey hair was neatly combed, framing a face that seemed etched with sorrow. He had piercing, phoenix-shaped eyes, a straight nose, full lips, and a sharply defined, three-dimensional face.

As for his build, it was impressively tall, over 1.9 meters, with broad shoulders, all impeccably tailored in a sophisticated pin-striped suit. In the earlier years many fans had shipped him and miss Mi who remained single.

Because of miss Mi she did not feel any pressure to constantly try and whiten her skin amidst the preference among most Asians. 

She rather keep her olive toned skin and dress up just like her favourite author who was already over sixty but look in her early thirties before she died, aging so perfectly she could not help but publicly admire and secretly worship.

But was the handsome man worthy of her goddess?

Thirty years of his effort unfortunately made him so but death made it impossible.

After taking in all of this in a swift, professional assessment, and putting her thoughts aside, Sarah Wu stepped forward with a confident smile and introduced herself before gracefully taking her seat opposite him.

Ten minutes later, after the lighting and sound checks were complete, the production team gave the go-ahead for them to start. The cameras began rolling.

“Editor Wen, it is an honour to have you here. First of all, I would like to express my deepest condolences on the death of a truly great author,” Sarah Wu said softly, her voice laced with genuine empathy.

“Thank you, Miss Wu,” he replied, his voice a low, resonant baritone.

“Now, the forums and social media platforms have been abuzz with rumours of a potential sequel. Can you confirm if it is true?” Sarah Wu asked trying not to sound too hopeful.

Editor Wen tilted his head as if it thought with an absentminded look on his face before answering. “Yes, this last book had been ongoing for a long time and was her first. It had finished with three million words and has caused an outcry among the reading community, desperate for more, which prompted such results.”

“True, I am sure our viewers would love to know more about this sequel. Approximately how many words will it contain? Will it be as lengthy as the first, or…” her words trailed off, her excitement palpable. Short or long, she did not care; she knew it would be a guaranteed bestseller!

“It will have only 1.8 million words. She had explained that even though she did not believe in HE (happy endings), she would, at the time, for her retirement give the public something rare.” Sarah Wu felt her vision blurred with a sudden rush of emotion, her favorite author was still thinking about them, her readers and fans. She really wanted to give in to the emotions torturing her, but this was a live interview, and she must maintain professional composure. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard to regain her equilibrium.

“When will it be published?”

“In two weeks, on the anniversary of her debut novel. The date was set long ago as a symbolic gesture, and the film adaption will be made public next year, around springtime.”

“The actors – will they be famous names, or perhaps newcomers?” Sarah Wu bit her lip after saying this leaning closer subconsciously so that none could be missed. 

“The actors were all carefully chosen by her, down to the very last extra. Some were flown in from overseas, and the majority are dedicated, long-time fans of her works, which made the selection process quite unique.”

**forum**


Discussion: Vanity saint Michaels author of 51 novels died.

[Bubblez: hahahaha have you heard the author died?] 

[Astridooooooooz: yeh she burned to death] 

[Zane: f*** why? I thought she would write a sequel.] 

[Zoobrid: really did she say?] 

[Monkeybridemansauce: yeh she replied the day before to my question I was so excited, then this happened.] 

[Greentea: what? No way if that was true then what’s the point..? *%*] 

[Miracleeze: sigh, my aunt ended up in the hospital after she heard. She followed her from day one, even though she had to pace herself so she would not spontaneously die from anger. This time though it was as though she lost her soul after hearing the author died.] 

[Xiekimmiezu: my mother knew her in real life, she has not eaten for two days now, she is just sitting there zoning out.] 

[Waitwhahuhyo: wow @greentea you seem super emotional] 

[Astridooooooooz: are you high? Drunk? Or just stupid? The author had such a good book, but it had a tragic ending. In fact if your eyes were working you would have seen the others. ] 

[Have you seen the reviews? The book was well written for f***** sake. I hope you get eaten alive or something freak!] 

[Masterpads: he should just drown!] 

[Someonesomeone: dogs should eat him for saying such blasphemy!] 

*admin deleted Waitwhahuhyo from forum*

[Lilypads: good @admin] 

[Astridooooooooz: good @admin] 

[Monkeybridemansauce: good @admin] 

[Spicysoursauces: good @admin] 

[Xzsdem: good @admin] 

12634 replies to admin

[ Dreamingsadly: ttoday the show heatwave, have broadcasted the interview between Sarah Wu and editor Wen. She.sigh.]

[ Numbfrommourning: I watched it through tears. ]

[Iwanttobeherloyal1fan: heartbreak, truly heartbreaking. You could see the pain in editor Wen’s eyes.]

[reamingsadly: I cried so hard that my eyes are swollen and my voice hoarse.]

[Monkeybridemansauce: it had one of the highest views in the country. Anyway thirty years of sending people to the hospital and the like, many will be focused on something so major about her.]

[Masterpads: wuwu, I am in tears again, it is so unfair.]

[Abcrides: yo I’m crying ugly as hell. The funeral is in two days. I heard she had donated everything she owned to her high school. It’s good.] 

[Zane: well her family isn’t pleased especially that niece of hers.] 

[Ariellllliebarbie: yo, so there is a gossip that the niece is with the ex she had been with for over twenty years. How gross is that for her to actually…] 

[Lillllllliannna: oh yeh, the man is similar to that last book but he has four children with the niece.] 

[Monkeybridemansauce: clear it up. That man mentioned was the cheating fiance, I mean the husband in the book wasn’t worth much but the first two hundred chapters he was like a leech along with her dead beat dad.]

[Zane: above of course @Lillllllliannna meant that fiance, even though the husband was a wasted in the end, he was in another seperate bracket.]

[Cheeseonbread: heh, don’t mention either of them. The fiance went with the niece she raised and the husband with a secretary who was a secret heiress and to boot mixed just like her. How could the husband resist such temptation. One is a wife with no background and one who had the backing of a rich family.]

[Freegossip: forget about the book for now, back to the niece. Somebody have to have real tea on the niece and the fiance. Also as for the heiress I the book, you guys forgot that the wife was from old money even though her family had fallen from the mother’s side her mother had left many things behind for her. She had also invested in many things and in chapter two hundred and forty two she had mentioned that specifically. Also the wife was darker while the heiress was lighter with wavy hair unlike the tight curls of the wife.]

Now someone spill the tea!]

872 times shared

[LordeZhen: yes above i have some tea, a friend from a friend who knows a friend, who knows a family member mentioned it. The niece was caught in her bed, author almost went awall, hehehe.] 

[Anhaha: I saw that post about a decade ago posted by a V blogger, shit the anger, also the comparison pictures of niece and aunt were like comparing a mutt to a purebred.] 

[Zo-zo S-so: I saw that! The V was a friend. She bashed those two dog blood cheaters, but the author kept everything and sued him for everything not returned. It should still be on the net…search it. That niece, smh, she is something serious.] 

2374 times shared

[Boss222213: oh s*%& really? I have no idea there was such a big tea, I will search that. She has zero heart if she did that and wants her money.] 

[Moonwalker: I’d want it to. She had a business she made alone, land, well had a home and the webnovel which was also sold on many major sites and I also heard that it is going to be made into a movie!] 

[HaPAPPyz: It was so good that she had rewards as well, but those last five chapters of her last book, ugh.] 

[Monkeybridemansauce: I know I regret dissing her now. It feels like I committed a sin.] 

[Boostboossssss: dude I know we all did the same. I feel so depressed.] 

[sugar@cube: I cried like a true girl for hours. Have you seen the blog post of the author?] 

[zenzzzzzen: I’ve seen she had typed before she died that she was making a reincarnation as a sequel..but..but wuwuwuwuwuwu] 

[amansadeds: wait, so there was a sequel? wth! I had written a bad review and even bashed the author. I feel so bad…wuwuwuwuwu… can I go back and change it…. Wuwuwu.] 

[wuwuwu:wuwwuwuwuwuwu]

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[kevingotshirtssleeves: you all should feel bad, her editor just mentioned on the major sites, that a draft of one thousand chapters for the sequel has been reported. Like with you, people probably brought death on this perfect author by gang-cursing her.] 

[zenzzzzzen: this one hereby begs for our author to be reincarnated.] 

[amansadeds: reposted zenzzzzzen’s post]

zenzzzzzen’s post has been reposted

1360k+ times.

[zenzzzzzen: wow]

Once upon a bad Christmas

chapter 7

Reviews 4789:

4/5 stars 

[ Astrid_reeds: dear author, how dare you break my heart like this? Two stars, and that’s only because the story was still well written]

5/5 stars 

[ Mariocartious: I hope you are happy. This book should be a horror, suspense and twisted. Drawn in for the first nine hundred and ninety-five chapters until the last five where you killed off each and everyone of the male leads and then had the female lead kill herself. Are you proud? A beautiful story ruined by your heartlessness you twisted *%+*Ing b*%&@! I hope you will never get a man and die single!]

5/5 stars 

[ Aloeversionzest: wuwuwuwu I hate you author! Grow old alone!]

4/5 stars 

[ Crisandcrissy: my girlfriend read this book for three months. I watched my relationship become extremely well because of this. She did things that before she would never do, so I picked up the book curious and felt enlightened to be honest it was extremely well written the description was from your point of view so each experience is like.. It was you but then the book just went downhill the last five chapters. It depressed my girlfriend for two weeks, she cried nonstop as a man. I have to admit I cried as well. Why would you kill her like that? What sort of person are you?]

5/5 star rating

[ I hope you stay alone for the rest of your miserable existence or die horribly you *%&@, stupid @’:%,I Can’t believe a *%@=+&£.]

4/5 star rating

[ runningfromlyfe:%&@ing c@%&£.]

3/5 star rating

[ amberdatessims: We are boh from the caribbean, I have read horrors, suspense, thrillers…then after this book popped up on my fyp I clicked it and found it actually good. A year of my life. Gone! BAD REVIW!!!]

3/5 star rating

[ Carlzt: as a man, I have to say it was a good read, well written and many things were cleared up in the end. As a man I will admit I was like a zombie for three days trying to understand why you had to do the female lead so dirty. I mean, you killed her man, her friends and after she killed herself on the verge of death the step sister basically made her blackened and probably become a ghost. I mean from the forums and discussions this is yur usual way of writing but still, you had to do her so dirty? ]

4/5 star rating

[ Vicenasekidsxi: You know, i was a normal person twenty years ago, you would think that as a healthy person who exercised, ate well and maintained himself that I would continue to be healthy. Then I read your books. Now I have to take medication because i seem to have heart problems and my nerves are trippy. I tell myself over and over its just a book the characters are fake but then I get happy, mad, angry, bervous, sad, depressed….I feel like a woman on her period!]

3/5 star rating

[ riceandpeas: You will resurrect the female lead author right? Or at last kill off the stepsister, right author? I will change this to a five star if you do.]

4/5 stars

[PiousreaderofVanity: Again, once again something brilliant. Valentines day, independence day for all of us Barbadians and christmaas. Every year, same thing. Every year like an addict wanting a fix I continue to read these books and webnovels. Ah, what a sucker, luckily I am strong enough if not I would be like some of these readers who have anxiety problems, heart problems and nerves. 

Oh and for those who want to sue her for emotional trauma just not she made sure to list the trigger warnings and disclaimer. ]

I blinked, looking at the large screen befor me with the various sites. From the total of four thousand plus reviews, on the various famous platforms worldwide, only forty of them were positive, hoping I write a saga, while the others called for my death or cursed me to be single forever. I continued to read the reviews moving to the popular asian review site. 

I was over sixty, single sure, but that was only because the guy I had been with for twenty years had left me for my niece I had pitied and raised.

Of course, they had four kids now and even grandchildren. Every time I saw them I wanted to stab their parents with a knife in their head in front of them so they could have life long trauma.

Annoyed, I sold my apartment I had bought and bought five acres of land, built a treehouse and a bike, travelling only when I had an event which ended up being every three months.

Thinking back, when the restrictions on me were finally released I could not escape fast enough with everything.

Why would I bother staying in China?

The entire point of me going there was because of him and my aunt who was actually Chinese, a waste of my youth!

Ehm, that is a long story.

Then I began writing, the first book was of course about my life in this world, I changed the names and some events but it was of those shameless couple in the beginning before it was warped by me into… a tragedy.

It took so long to finish but that was because of the haunting from the others who simply were like torture forcing me to write.

I also contacted my lawyer and decided to have the eggs I had previously donated on a whim to be used.

He had asked if he could use them and I agreed, anyway we knew each other for almost twenty years now and though he was older, he was in peak form and looked far from his age.

As someone from Barbados just like my original self, I also wanted my own people to have that legacy even though he looked and spoke Chinese, his parents were three generation born Barbadians only returning with the children when they were two and visiting the island.

With that thought, it was why I decided to make almost all of my male characters Asian males.

What a twist no?

A black female and Asian male leads. Anyway books with an Asian male and black female was extremely rare which amounted for most of my books becoming so popular.

Anyway, it didn’t matter, just that my bloodline would be out there.

After, I became a Web novelist and learned how to make my own shampoo, creams, and soaps, creating my brand.

First it was curiosity but then it became a hobby and then a small job.

My life was productive for the past thirty years. I even practised tai chi, judo, boxing, running and went to the gym to stay in shape. Even if I was over sixty I still looked no more than thirty.

The air here was clean. I grew my own food. This was a good life.

Only that I was a bit lonely.

Sigh.

Should I make the book into a saga?

Make her live again? I have already done a few drafts, but should I publish them? My editor was talking about it, those I sent for her to peruse had been praised but… I dunno.

Then there is the first book. I had thought about having children back then with my fiance but he wanted to wait, on a whim I wrote her and also decided on a son even though I would have liked a daughter.

That book was slightly different with triplets each one from friends I secretly had a crush on and also the best friend of that female character who was secretly my type.

Typing a few thousand words I yawned feeling sleepy.

Falling asleep moments later, the computer still on, I was woken by the feeling of pain.

I was on fire, everything around me was on fire.

Shortly after, I passed out and was burned to death.

Guess karma really is a bitch, but finally I could be free.

Chain reactions occurred throughout the world. She thought she was the author but they are characters who were affected through different eras because of the invaders, the world was supposed to progress and their lives grand and beautiful but invaders appeared causing the timelines to fall and the world to collapse. If not for Vanity’s arrival and her writing, the power from her and the belief of billions the world would have been snuffed out.

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 6

chapter 1205

Blood was splattered across the ruined street, painting the crumbling buildings in a crimson hue. The mutated things, their limbs twisted and elongated, had torn people apart with savage glee. My son was gone, ripped from my arms during the initial surge. I stumbled among the carnage, my boots crunching on shattered bone and glass, clutching the rusty pole I’d salvaged from a downed street sign. It was slick with blood and grime. I had fought for so many years, scavenging for scraps, battling the infected, protecting the weak, but for what? What had it all been for?

My man was dead, taken by a raider’s bullet two years back. My friends had died protecting me, throwing themselves in front of the horrors that clawed their way through the city. I wanted to save them, each and every one, but it was all a failure. Every sacrifice, every drop of sweat and blood, meant nothing.

“You smeared my name and thought everything would be okay, Yumna? You sold the shared shares six years ago, right after the outbreak, and pocketed the entire sum. You refused to pay for the wedding, leaving David scrambling for a second job, making him miss his father’s final days. We had such a good life before, our children were pampered and finally able to see the day, the day these… things… arrived. But you!” Her voice dripped with venom.

The woman, my stepsister, looked at me with eyes filled with a hatred so profound it felt like a physical blow. This stepsister, still sickeningly alive, stood before me in clothes that looked freshly laundered, her beautiful face untouched by the horrors we’d all endured, scarless, as she accused me. The audacity of it all.

I did not understand her rage. The money was mine, inherited from my mother. The business was started by my mother long before this fool was even in the picture. I helped her raise her children, spoiled brats, unknowingly for four years, like a damn clown, and when I no longer wanted to be a sucker, she accused me of ruining her life.

Creatures ate people! The world had gone to hell!

The world had ended five years ago, reduced to a wasteland of death and despair, and she was still hooked on that petty drama?! Still clinging to the past like it meant anything.

“I would have never believed the pampered princess would end up like this, cowering in the dirt. You know it was because of you everyone died, don’t you?” I stared wide-eyed, a knot forming in my stomach, staring at the woman, utterly confused.

“The reason you can’t speak properly was me. A little…accident two years ago. And the boy you raised, the one you believed was yours, was also mine. Your child…your tiny little angel was tossed in a tree and left for dead. Sigh, he was so resilient, though. He cried and screamed as he was pecked to death by the eagle. I mean, I caught it and starved it for five days so it was extra hungry.” My ears were ringing, a high-pitched whine drowning out her words. I stared wide-eyed, my vision blurring as I looked at the young woman who lived so well, untouched by the horrors I faced daily – the stabbings, the scratches, the burns, the gnawing hunger. I just…

I couldn’t accept that the boy I suffered with, the one who called me ‘Mama’ as we huddled around flickering fires, was not mine. That all the love I poured into him was for someone else’s child and the child of my enemy! “Oh, right, you raised him so well, I couldn’t watch my precious son die right?” She said in an offhanded manner. I stared wide eyed as the little boy I sacrificed even my man and friends for stepped from behind this stepsister and looked at me with disgust and…hatred?

“You raised him in filth, such a treasure…” She brushed away his soft hair exposing a delicate face. She looked at him with love and then hugged him close. I watched as the boy, the little mongrel I raised for eight years, looked at my enemy with adoration.

“Sigh, it is a waste talking to you. Your use is up. Oh, and your men. Those friends, Mark and Ben, loved you so much, Yumna, but you friend-zoned them, didn’t you? Stringing them along with false hope. You actually forced them to die as well…” I listened, feeling my body go cold, a numbness spreading through my limbs. My mind blanked, the words washing over me like a tidal wave, crushing the last vestiges of hope. Even as she walked away, her designer boots clicking on the debris-strewn pavement, I knelt there, stunned, the rusty pole clattering to the ground. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, a hollow smile twisting my lips, I plunged the jagged end of the pole into my right eye. The pain was immediate and blinding, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Right before I died I heard her voice like the fucking devil whispering in my ears. “I lied you know, your son is actually your son but his value is simply too great. Such a luck child must be mine so I can continue to prosper.” I died wailing unwillingly in my mind.

Authors note: dear readrs I hope you like the book, two million plus words finally over. I want to wish you a merry christmas, dont forget to comment, like and share.

Comments 1289:

[ draggedbudz: Heh? The second christmas I have to spend between flabbergasted, angry, depressed and annoyed. let me go and take my pills.]

[ gritgritup: what the %&$! I wasted my damn life again!] 

[ questionsauthor: I changed my name because I have questions and I will go in the review section later but comments. Author; why? why would you do me, a loyal fan for twenty years repeatedly so dirty? You write well, you make us hook and kill off the las. How could that trecherous b&%/ become the female lead in the end and live happily ever after? How could you say its an HE? this is a Be okay! A damn BAD ENDING! ]

[ Zingzag: I wasted a pack of tissue. ]

[ Hungryonesize: Author, i will mail my medical bill to you. It is simply too much.]

[ Grindingink: Is it because you are from the west that you have to be so twisted? I mean could you plase like add something nicer and stick to it? I frown on women with many men but why couldnt you give them at last a sweat date? AUTHOR I DEMAND ANSWERS!!! ]

[ hatefulperson: Author, I have a nervous problem and also became an addict. People told me that I should get help but…why though? just tell me why you keep doing this? ]

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 5

C214

Because I had mocha skin, the color of dark chocolate with a hint of coffee, and a head full of tightly coiled afro hair that framed my face like a dark halo, my dad always seemed subtly disappointed. He’d never said it outright, but I knew he’d envisioned a daughter with lighter, almost caramel-toned skin and looser, cascading curls.

Well, it’s fine, I thought, even if I wasn’t a stick figure. I worked hard for what I had. My stomach was flat from Pilates, and my waist, at 26 inches, was small enough to accentuate my curves. My legs were strong and defined, even if they were thicker than runway models, toned from years of dancing. And my hips were broad, a genetic inheritance from my mother’s side of the family, but that too was something I loved because it gave my ass the shape of a ripe Georgia peach. My breasts, though only a modest B cup, were perky and perfectly proportioned to my frame.

After changing out of my sweatpants and throwing on a fitted black dress, and grabbing my brand new phone, I hopped into my car and drove to my dad’s estate. The moment I stepped into the opulent, marble-floored foyer, he started shouting. His face was red with fury.

‘You didn’t show up at the wedding! Two hundred guests waited, Antonio was frantically searching for you! The Mercedes he drove was repossessed, and the credit cards didn’t work when he tried to pay for gas!’

‘I cancelled the car lease, he’s no longer my fiancé, and the card is from my account as well. He works as a manager at a decent company– why is it that I haven’t received even a birthday card from him, let alone a gift? Why is it that he has to use my money for everything?!’

I shot back, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. The words were barely out of my mouth when a searing pain erupted on my left cheek. The force of the slap made my head snap to the side.

I can’t believe it, I thought, the shock reverberating through me. At twenty-two years old, I never imagined I’d still be subjected to physical violence like I was as a child, but here we are.

‘How dare you speak to me that way! He is a good, hardworking man! He’s from a respectable family!’

I blinked, trying to regain my composure. Then, without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out. There was no reason to stay. Everything I had of value was gone, not just the material possessions, but any semblance of love or respect. So, no longer will I care. Let him keep the slap. As his daughter, I talked back, it was my bad.

Comments 2976:

[Ilovecrocodiles:a good man? Aha hahahahaha, what sort of father was he?]

[Aloevirginzz: don’t worry girl, he will regret!]

[Questionsandanswer: it is christmas today and author could not even shove in some theme.]

[Alivinandchris: above, the author had mentioned it before, we know already that she does not mention this much after all her books are international.]

[brotherdred: it was mentioned it the earlier chapters.]

[Murphidpedals: slap him back! How dare that garbage!]

[Buzzzzzzzzingbees: wow, just wow. I’ll wait for the author to pass out the revenge.]

Chapter 699:

A month later, in my new home, I found out I was pregnant by the one-night stand. The ring that was found on my ring finger I kept; the main reason it kept unworthy men away and it did not look absoulutely cheap, though my taste was much higher than most so it seemed that way even though i had to admit the closer I looked at the delicate design and the small diamonds ebbed inside made it so.

Also some images of me holding out my hand and allowing a man with long, distinct jointed fingers placed the ring on my hand flashed.

Even if someone like me was not liked much here in the first place, there are still a few who liked a unique beauty that was different from most asian standards.

The after a while I decided that shifting some money I had earned from good investments, I hoarded food when I started showing at eight available funds in the secondary account was running low and after a while I decided to shift over some funds, once I was a little heavier around seven months pregnant, then hired a private company for home delivery. On the ninth month, I gave birth and the child was a boy.

I wanted to laugh when they placed the tiny, bundled-up infant in my arms, carefully peeling back the blanket to inspect every inch of him. He was perfect, impossibly so, with a surprisingly full head of straight, silky black hair, skin as pale as fresh snow, and the most beautiful, slightly upturned eyes. Considering my own complexion – a warm, dark almond tone – the contrast was almost comical.

Logically, he should have inherited my darker features, perhaps even some unruly curls. Everyone says babies change as they grow, especially around two years old. I clung to that hope, anxiously awaiting his second birthday. But as he grew, he looked even less like me, more like the locals. I dreaded the inevitable questions, the confused glances. Imagine trying to convince people I wasn’t the nanny, pushing his stroller through the park.

I admitted he was probably from a dormant gene or his father’s gene fought mine like I was an enemy to get a child like that.

Still, he at least looked similar to me.

One day when I drove to the center for a meeting with my bank, as an investor i was given priviledges than many were not and as an exheress who is simply a rich one without a family to back me besides my little son.

All of this sacrifice was with the singular purpose of being the best possible mother to my son, ensuring he was well-cared for and secure, even if I was gone early.

Unfortunately, that day took a dramatic turn. I got the shock of my life.

A man appeared seemingly from nowhere, his presence radiating authority. He approached me and declared, with unwavering conviction, that I was his wife, and the boy was his son.

This…

I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me, my face burning with a heat so intense that if my skin were lighter, it would have been a blazing crimson.

I stared, dumbfounded, at the tall, undeniably handsome Asian man before me, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and with perfectly coiffed hair. His features were so striking, so refined, that I silently acknowledged his undeniable beauty. But when he repeated his outrageous claim, the impact hit me like a physical blow.

I think it was stress or something because the world tilted, and I lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a bed, unfamiliar surroundings swirling into focus.

My eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for my son, but he was nowhere to be seen. A surge of panic coursed through me, and I bolted upright, feeling a dizzying rush of blood to my head. Scanning my surroundings, it became horrifyingly clear that this was not my home.

comments 4537:

[Carolsingalong: Finally th twist is here!]

[qqqqqaaas: I have been waiting for this part! male lead!]

[plotsandalldemholes: I am excited but i am telling myself to calm down]

[LuLuLuLu: I am excited and will not calm down. I will wait for the plothole! @plotsandalldemholes.]

[ughhuhuh:I am biting my nails, thinking if I should click the next chapter.]

Chapter 897

There are shocks in life, moments that hit you so hard they make you want to go on a rampage, to lash out at everything and everyone. The kind of volcanic fury that threatens to consume you whole.

My husband, confessed he loved another woman. How can such a thing be accepted, especially after all the drama with his family, all the sacrifices I made to appease them?

I felt that my limit had been reached, he dared to admit it to my face.

A mere secretary,the damn help, thought she could climb over my head, usurp my place, and even dared to slap me. How could I accept such blatant disrespect, such a betrayal?

 I could not, I wouldn’t. Therefore, I meticulously planned my escape and ran away with my five-year-old son,  as soon as my husband left for his business trip.

Because our marriage was a secret and his affair with the secretary was pblic along with his status and the threath of my child—my only relative, I had to bow my head, swallow my pride, and play the dutiful, oblivious wife in public.

I was aggrieved, suffocated by the lies and deceit. It was one mistake after another, like escaping one prison, the suffocating expectations of my family, only to enter another. 

Comments 987:

[plotsandalldemholes: I am so damn upset! Why?! I had so much hope in the male lead and what did he do?!!! That secretary could not be so shameless!]

[Dendandon: the man stolen by the one she saved and now by a worker, she should just stay single and raise her child.]

[Beam: I broke my damn phone because of this and still continued hoping for more like a damn maschoschist!]

[Darkfantasy_lover: I knew it! I mean who kills off a character in such a descriptive way in the beginning? I bet I will be using my inhaler soon yo!]

[Chasingroostersanddogs: I saw this coming! I understand she had to grow and believed with all the face slapping before she would, until the part where the secretary beat her up because she dared to confront her.]

[Carolsingalong: I only commented because I couldnt resist, but damn im speechless otherwise.]

[dancingintherainclouds: above, I feel the same way. ugh.]

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 4

I really deserved to die, a constant, gnawing thought that plagued me, but I couldn’t let them be happy. I couldn’t allow my father, a man usually so discerning, to be blinded by a woman who was constantly under the knife, each surgery a desperate attempt to recapture lost youth or perhaps, something more sinister.

How many times had she gone under?

Three?

Four?

Each time emerging a little less herself.

Take what my mother worked hard for, the small import business she painstakingly built from nothing after arriving in the country.

Did she get pregnant from him, trapping him with a child while he had another family?

Fail. This man will be impotent, his seed as barren as the desert. That woman will be trying, spending countless hours and dollars at fertility clinics, that man will be trying for a son, a male heir who will never appear from all those blanks he shot, a cruel twist of fate for a man obsessed with legacy.

Sister wants my man? My fiancé, practically my husband after all the arrangements were made.

Have him. Take him, and the burden he carries.

I’m sure, super sure, that I can find better, so the subpar man, the one who couldn’t keep his zipper up around my own sister, I, Yumna Falala, born in Chkemen, , to an Afmiko father, a quiet but strong man from Nigeria, and a mixed mother who died from heartbreak, a slow, agonizing death that hollowed her out from the inside, refused to live again like that.

So when I was reborn, when I resolved to take control, just before I left the meticulously decorated room, a room bursting with red and gold for my impending nuptials, to get married to the man who had made my sister pregnant and, I suspected, would never even bother to show up, I caught a taxi after slipping out the back entrance of the family compound.

I took the papers, carefully hidden in my clutch, to the house that was supposed to be our marital home, the house legally in my name, called the moving company, Atlas Van Lines, and took out all of his meticulously tailored suits and Italian leather shoes. And the sleek, black BMW X5 that he drove, officially in my name, I called the rental company, Avis, to pick it up and cancelled the payment. I also cancelled the Amex card I had foolishly given him access to.

Then, still in my elaborate silk wedding dress, I went to some hotel, The Golden Dragon, checked in under a false name, and went drinking at the hotel bar. Ordering one expensive cocktail after another, numbing the pain and the shame.

Somehow, though, the next day I did not expect that I would wake up, head pounding, limbs aching, sore and with a heavy, black and gold ring, intricately engraved with a dragon motif, on my left ring finger.

When I woke to empty my stomach in the toilet, the metallic tang of bile burning my throat, then took a quick, scalding shower, followed by picking up my scattered belongings, I didn’t even spare a glance for the probably still naked man on the bed, a stranger whose face was already fading from my memory.

Well, if I did something so shameless, fuelled by rage and heartbreak, I suppose the normal thing would be to get away as fast and as far as I can. Time to disappear.

Comments1578:

[Zoelovesherself: you go, girl!]

[Asherahesah: wow not bad for this type of book]

[Xysyyyyyyyyyyy: Yumna Falala, author again with the names!]

[HAYHEY: I made it without giving it!]

[Qqqqqqwwwww: @HAYHEY, you know it’s only c75, right? If you are an old reader wait until around two hundred before the urge to cough blood arises. .]

[ZenzanZoom: Hey reader Qqqqqqwwwww, don’t break us so early. I remember in one of her more popular books the one with the multiple leads she broke our heart in c30.]

[AquAiq: Haha, yeh it was quite funny in that one. It took me almost a year to finish that book.]

C210

Today was an extremely busy day. I finally sold my thirty percent stake in Dad’s company.

Thankfully, the sale was done privately, bypassing all the corporate bureaucracy. With the company still showing a healthy profit margin and projections looking stable for at least the next twelve months — though silently I wish it would crash in three — but anyway, I managed to negotiate an exceptionally favorable price. Flush with cash, I immediately reinvested most of it—buying shares in a diverse portfolio of ventures, mostly tech-related. After brokerage fees and taxes, I’m practically tapped out, but I made sure to squirrel away enough cash to cover living expenses for a year or two.

Sigh, revenge is a bit exhausting, but I could not let those who did me wrong continue living a life of ease.

With the funds transferred and the paperwork finalized, I went straight to the bank and cancelled my accounts. Next on the list: getting this monstrosity of a house, the one I inherited, on the market, there is no use keeping it. I already contacted a realtor and scheduled a listing appointment for tomorrow. My plan is to use the proceeds to buy a smaller home in some secluded area, maybe up north near the mountains.

The dream is to have a proper garden, a real patch of earth to grow my own vegetables and herbs. And perhaps, just perhaps, open a little general store, something charming and quaint. The thought of his face when he realizes I’m not some helpless heiress anymore, that his meal ticket has vanished into thin air, makes me want to sing. Oh, the look his face, the leech who plans on marrying my step-sister!

I swear, I might actually die of laughter. The best part is, he’s footing the bill for the entire lavish wedding! Useless bastard. He won’t be extracting a single penny from me ever again!

Father, you always preferred the fair-skinned daughter with the perfectly straight hair and delicate, lily-like complexion, didn’t you? Fine. Continue, you useless, pathetic bastard! See how far that gets you!

Comments 1097:

[Ashleybaby: wow with that type of father what you did no one blames you.]

[Cherries_ and/ strawberries : yes, you did good he better not come crawling back!]

[Jollyrancher: wow she was a stupid one glad she had been enlightened.]

[Sillybilly: a round of applause for the fl being enlightened, ah the author had mercy.]

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 3

#Runaway bride#

Chapter 1

If you want to kill someone tragically, how would you do it? Not just any death, but one that leaves a lasting ache in the hearts of those who knew them.

I could list so many ways, a car crash on a rainy night, a sudden illness, but you know what truly qualifies as a tragic death? A death that resonates with the deepest kind of sorrow?

Death from a broken heart.

Hehe.

Imagine the scene: the person you love, the one you’ve built your world around, coldly telling you how they merely used you after you poured everything you had into the relationship. After they greedily devoured all of your love, your very life blood, your breath, your unwavering devotion, and then callously stomped on it, leaving you a hollow shell. The devastation would be complete.

The World of men, is the sad truth. In every era, a woman is always nothing more than cannon fodder, used and discarded. I see it everywhere.

As for those pathetic bitches who are reborn claiming they wish to change their fate, rewrite their past?

What fate?! A predetermined destiny they suddenly find fault with?

When you selfishly change it, what is the inevitable chain reaction? What unforeseen consequences ripple outwards?

Those innocent people who then have to suffer, bear the burden, because of your self-centered actions and desires.

I am awake now. My eyes are finally open.

This world, with all its ugliness and injustice, I am glad I have awakened to its true nature. You want to be selfish and take away my things, exploit my kindness?

Here, have them. Take them all. See if they bring you true happiness.

You want me, a mere passerby in your grand scheme, to become your convenient stepping stone to greater power and influence?

Sorry, I am not willing to help you climb. Find another victim. I refuse to be a pawn in your twisted game.

My ideal form, sculpted in my mind, was that of a model – breasts neither too large, drawing unwanted attention, nor too small, lacking a certain feminine allure. They were just right. And for my dream guy, he’d stand around 2 meters tall, with hands large enough to comfortably encompass my curves. My legs would be long and strong, thick with muscle earned from years of dancing, but not so bulky as to appear masculine. My height, a delicate 1.65 meters, would place the top of my head perfectly at his collarbone, allowing for easy whispers and intimate embraces. I’d have a slim back, defined by Pilates, and a waist small enough for him to easily span with his hands.

That, right there, was the image I clung to – both of myself and the man I was meant to share my life with. It was a carefully constructed fantasy, a beacon of hope in the turbulent sea of reality. But like all dreams, mine shattered against the unforgiving rocks of fate.

Cliché, I suppose, but true nonetheless. My man,  left me after three years for my half-sister. My stepmother, with her calculating eyes, was a venomous snake, constantly whispering insidious doubts in my ear. And my dad, bless his oblivious heart, was a man who should be run over by a truck – not literally, of course, but figuratively. He was so easily manipulated, so blind to the machinations around him. I, as the naive and trusting daughter, should have been smacked with a 2×4 to knock some sense into myself. Ah, I was so gullible, so eager to see the best in everyone, even when the red flags were waving frantically in my face.

Comments 453:

[Curiousgorgeous: wow I’m the first to comment good read author]

[Makeitread: you can tell a new reader by their comments, sigh another sucker has been sucked in.]

[Kiddingdogblood: @Makeitread do not spoil it for the new readers!]

[Suckerforplotholezzzz: I am here for the plotholes.]

[Dearreadermei: You can tell when this book is from her, sucker is here!]

[Crissyandcherries:I am liking so far more more]

[Merrymerri: it’s this author again, like a fool I am drawn in.]

[Stareeeeeee: sigh, I want to bash her. I feel I am about to fall in another hole she dug but I can’t help it. Damn!]

[Aqaqwahhhh: I have toughened my heart. I will not give in to emotions!]

[Reader1234567: I hope you all have a wonder Christmas month so far!]

[Reader1234567: XP]

~~

Slim, well-formed, earth-toned fingers flew across the keyboard as Vanity wrote. Her mind continued to unfold the story of a woman who had a tragic ending due to the fact of the ‘heroine’ being reborn and counter-attacking. Vanity bit her full bottom lip, trying to hide the treacherous smile. She felt excited writing this book, thinking of how many holes she could dig for her readers, gassing them up before making them fall like dead weight.

The full, shapely lips curved into a smirk as the story unfolded before her.

Introductory chapter, chapter 1…4…6…hehe.

She wondered how many readers would give her a one-star this time. How many will outline how much better this book could be?

Her heart felt better, if only for this short time. She continued to write, her mind popping up images that allowed her well-jointed hands to fly across the keyboard like the wind, each word taking form.

She was so deep into this that time flew, yet she was unaware.

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 1

Vanity Saint Michael, a mere awakened character in a book. 

I was sixteen in this world when I abruptly awakened to this horrifying truth, so how exactly did I end up here?

In my original world, I had a mother and a father and was their only child, doted on but never spoiled, my mother though seemingly gentle was a strict woman and my father even if he loved me loved his wife more.

‘I can only have this one wife, but I can always have other children. They may not be like you but as our first child they will have your characteristics anyway which is also fine.’ When he had told me that I did not feel bad or annoyed because they truly loved me, just, they were honest about their thoughts as they taught me many things by the way. 

They were the Saint Michael family, funny though because they were named exactly after a parish even though they all came from St Joseph from the time it was all recorded in the family tree.

She lived in St Joseph, it was beautiful at last to her with its abundance of fruit trees – mangoes, breadfruit, and golden apples – the swaying cane fields, and the ground provisions – yams, sweet potatoes, and cassava – grown on their farm, they unlike the upper middle class people built a four bedroom wooden house, a chattel house with a wrap around veranda. On the three acres of land they had everything, from poultry, fruits and vegetables and even they even had an artificial lake, more of a large, carefully constructed pond, that doubled as a water source during the dry season and where fish were bred to eat when the urge arrived.

Small things on must learn to be self sufficient. For me, I thought that it was tedious and unnecessary. 

Happy, so she went to a decent school even many looked down on it. She excelled in her studies and was just weeks away from graduating, dreaming of attending the University of the West Indies to study marine biology.

It was the month of Christmas!

I was going to eat more conkies, black cake, ham, turkey, rum punch!

I was going with my plate and eat by my neighbours!

So why?!

Ah!

So why was I here?!

I grew up on an island with the same name as this one, Barbados. 

I lived for eighteen years before I died.

Why?

Because I saved a little boy chasing a ball in the road while a transport board bus was coming.

“Somebody got lick down!” A horrified shout ripped through the air.

I wish I had been a little earlier, a little later, even if I had to live with the crushing trauma and life-long regret of being unable to save him I regretted it!

“De bus man just drive straight—”

“Christmas soon hay den,”

“Cha then, poor ting…”

“That is de lil girl from down de hill, Vanity!”

“I tell she yesterday to tek care of she self and stay safe, I gine gi she some of my rum punch on de twentieth.” Mrs. Hinds, the elderly neighbour, wailed, her voice laced with grief.

Christmas, mother was going to let me have my own rum cake and father help me slaughter my own pig again this year!

She wanted to live!

She wanted to spend Christmas with her parents!

Her family!

She should have but in doing so, she herself was slammed against the unforgiving asphalt, becoming instant road kill, just another damn statistic in the morning news!

“She was so fast, like a damn cheetah protecting its cub,” someone murmured in stunned disbelief, their eyes wide with shock.

“Dat lil boy was suh lucky she was there,” another voice added, trembling, laced with the heavy accent of the islands. “If she wasn’t there, that boy woulda be dead meat right now.”

Vomit the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting nearby could be heard, a visceral reaction to the carnage. “Dont look at de body, child! Turn away,” a woman urged, her voice tight with emotion as she shielded her own small daughter from the horrifying scene.

A hulking 20,000 kg bus, its tires screeching in protest a split second too late, ran her over, the metal behemoth crushing the life out of her. She felt her ribs crack and splinter under the immense impact, her lungs, kidneys, and intestines collapsing, bursting like overripe fruit in a sickening, wet pop.

“De blood everywhere then, look at she chest and lower body, completely mash up,” a man whispered, his voice thick with shock, his face ashen as he pointed to the crimson pool spreading across the cracked concrete.

Pain! A searing, all-consuming agony that ripped through her like a wildfire.

I felt her eyes bulge in their sockets, the world blurring at the edges, and as I struggled in excruciating pain, by some twisted, fucked-up miracle struggling to cling to life, I saw the pale morning sun peeking through the clouds above, casting a weak, golden ray on the chaos below. As if mourning me, the heavens opened, and a cold, torrential rain began to fall, washing the blood and grime into the storm drains.

“dah poor lil girl, I asked she wuh she wan do afta she leff dah school last week,”

“Yeh, i was dey sweeping my gallery you know how dusty it get sometimes—she said she wanted to go to UWI, she was so excited, she even showed me the pamphlet she had.”

“Study marine biology, always had her nose in a book.”

“Smart girl, like she parents dey, always pushing her to do her best.”

“Yeh, she mudda—-”

“Sigh, wah we gine tell Vanessa? How we gonna break this to her?”

“Dats dem only child yuh, her whole world revolved around that girl.”

“Sigh she had she late, waited so long for a child.”

“Yuh think dat is de worse? Christmas month hay and I heard de fadda say that he will let she slaughter a pig this time instead of the turkeys.”

Pain! Unrelenting, unbearable pain that clawed at her insides, a burning agony that threatened to consume her entirely!

“M- Mo—” I struggled to speak, my throat raw and constricted, my voice a mere rasp lost amidst the rising chorus of whispers of pity, lament, and horror. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, choking me.

“She is twitching, look! Oh God, somebody call another ambulance!” a young man shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

“I call dem already, but—-” a woman said, her voice cutting off and choking. 

“She is still alive? Jesus Christ… is there anything we can do?” a woman whispered, clutching a rosary in her trembling hands.

“She re- oh God, she…” the sound of vomiting erupted again, closer this time, the retching echoing in the otherwise silent street.

Once upon a bad Christmas

Chapter 2

My vision blurred, the edges of my sight darkening into a suffocating tunnel until I could see nothing but swirling grey. I struggled to breathe, each ragged gasp a desperate plea for air, for life. As I did, I felt a bone-chilling cold seep into my very being, numbing the pain, extinguishing the fire, and then…nothing. Just an echoing emptiness.

When I awoke, I was here, inhabiting the body of a sixteen-year-old girl with long, thick half curled hair and wide, innocent eyes, in a world that felt both familiar and alien, a disorienting mix of recognition and otherness, with fragmented memories flooding my mind like shards of broken glass, each piece sharp and incomplete.

My first thoughts were; I get to live again! This is a miracle! I want to try harder, make something of this new chance, be better, do better, live a life worthy of this gift, etc… The hope surged through me like a tidal wave.

Heh, fail. Utterly, miserably. No matter what I did back then, no matter how I struggled or resisted, I was bound by the plot, trapped within its cruel confines, forced to play my pre-determined role, like a puppet on a string, my movements dictated by an unseen author, a cosmic puppeteer pulling the strings of my fate. The illusion of choice was just that—an illusion.

Ah ha, ha, haha. I laughed, I struggled, I lamented and then I hated!

Why couldn’t I become nothing when I died?

Why must I live such a life all to make wedding dresses for a dog couple. The little ‘mutt’ I had saved on a mere whim due to pity, I wanted to stab to death but I was restricted.

Going through all of that, how could I be normal?

From sixteen to thirty-three, I had to live with such restrictions until I could be free. Heh, they want to be happy? 

While I had to slink in a corner like a wounded animal?

Heh.

Then I will let them all know, let the world know!

Fuck your happy ever after, what of the characters that were driving like me?

I am Vanity!

If I am not happy, then no one is happy!

I will never allow that dog couple to have an easy life?

Heh, never!

That very person, returned to thinking like her character, before was simply a mere memory. 

She had tried to think like herself when she first arrived and dying to be brought back to life, remembering—

In a meticulously crafted, six-room cabin, seemingly out of place in its surroundings, one found an unexpected level of comfort and luxury. The cabin boasted a bathroom with modern fixtures, a sleekly designed space with a walk-in shower and heated towel rack, a sleeping room that was the biggest room and most modern compared to the rest, complete with a library nook integrated into the bedroom with a sunken middle where a fifteen-foot wide custom-made bed, piled high with silk cushions, and an eight-foot long chaise lounge, upholstered in buttery-soft leather, were nestled. A kitchen filled with all modern stainless steel appliances, gleaming under recessed lighting, and granite countertops, cool to the touch. A dining room with a long mahogany table, polished to a mirror sheen, and four intricately carved seats, though they were unnecessary because she never invited people to this secluded place. The living room was complete with oversized, plush chairs – two two-seater sofas and two three-seater sofas – upholstered in a soft, velvety fabric in shades of cream and beige to finish was a hand-woven woollen rug, approximately five feet wide and four feet long, adding a touch of warmth and texture to the polished hardwood floors. The sunroom was filled with some rare orchids, flown in from Thailand, and hibiscus flowers, cultivated in her own small greenhouse, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the muted tones of the dense foliage outside.

Presently, a woman sat looking through the floor-to-ceiling window of her sunroom, her gaze fixed on the small, dense forest in the background and the shimmering expanse of the nearby lake, its surface reflecting the dappled sunlight. The air hung heavy with the scent of salt, carried on the gentle breeze from the ocean, and the intoxicating fragrance of blooming jasmine, which climbed the trellis outside the window.

Not many would believe such a luxurious and well-appointed place would exist in such a remote area, but it did, nestled right on a small, privately-owned island, purchased decades ago and shrouded in secrecy, off the rugged, less-touristed coast of Barbados in the Caribbean.

She was a little over sixty years old, but her skin was almost void of wrinkles, a testament to a life lived away from harsh elements, sheltered from the scorching sun and biting winds, and perhaps aided by the advantages of wealth and access to the best skincare. Her dark skin, smooth and supple, and thick natural hair, now almost white, fell almost to her lower back in thick ropes of meticulously maintained Rasta locs, each strand perfectly coiled. A wooden pendant, shaped like an ankh, a symbol of life, hung delicately around her neck, a reminder of her own unexpected second chance.

Her eyes were still strikingly beautiful, framed by thick, sooty silver lashes that partially hid a cold, assessing gaze, honed by years of observation and strategic planning. They held a depth of experience and secrets, hinting at a life lived to the fullest, both the triumphs and the tragedies.

She wore a loose-fitting linen shirt and matching pants in a shade of pale grey, chosen for their comfort and breathability, with soft cotton socks on her feet. The simple clothing did little to disguise her slim, firm muscles and shapely form of all woman, honed by years of dedicated training. When she tilted her face towards the soft morning light, one could see the enduring beauty that time had not ravaged – a delicate, yet strong jawline, high cheekbones, and an air of quiet dignity that both commanded respect and awe.

This woman had the surname Michael, though her family had become fallen in social standing after a series of unfortunate business dealings, she had enough money, carefully invested and managed, to live a life of luxury, far beyond what those outside could have ever imagined, even if she died tomorrow but, heh, that wasn’t part of the plan and even if she did, it will only be donated and never be fed to those two dogs!

Her life had been tragic love-wise.

The pain and sorrow in her life had been sad, but it is OK. She had channelled all of that into her wildly popular web novels. Dog Blood novels, overflowing with so many plot holes and outrageous twists that she had become infamous for angering her readers, inciting their fury and frustration to the point her black fans spanned over the hundreds of thousands to multi-millions worldwide, a testament to the addictive nature of her storytelling.

The emptiness within her never seemed to go away, a hollow ache that resonated deep within her soul. And by all that’s holy, she had tried to fill it, seeking solace in various pursuits, but only this seemed to work, this ability to manipulate emotions and create worlds where suffering reigned supreme. How can someone who did not believe in happily ever after, who viewed love as a fleeting illusion, write a romance novel with a ‘HE’ (Happily Ever After)?

Nah, she could not. It was a betrayal of her own experiences, a lie she refused to perpetuate. Even if she was part of a book herself, she had no other way.

What she had believed to be such was false; therefore, she will never write such nonsense. Her leads must make her readers want to cough blood in anger, want to furiously condemn her for being a stepmother author, delighting in the misery of her characters.

She didn’t mind. She suffered, so those who also believe in happily ever after must also suffer, must be forced to confront the harsh realities of life.

Now she was thinking about her next novel, a particularly twisted tale of betrayal and revenge, before smirking and typing away on her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she unleashed her creative fury upon the unsuspecting world.

updated sites to publish/make money

When it comes to online platforms for novels, Dreame emerges as the leading choice. They offer an app called Kiss (although I may be mistaken), which has garnered positive feedback from users. This platform provides a convenient and user-friendly interface for authors to showcase their work and connect with readers. Many renowned authors have achieved great success on Dreame and have been able to monetize their works.

Another platform worth considering is Wattpad, which offers an excellent avenue for receiving feedback on your work. It has a large and active community of readers and writers who provide valuable insights and support. Wattpad has been a launching pad for many aspiring authors, and some have even gone on to secure publishing deals based on their success on the platform.

In addition to Dreame and Wattpad, Webnovel is another option to explore. However, it is crucial to carefully review their contract as they often require exclusivity. Despite this, Webnovel offers one of the best compensation packages in the industry, making it an attractive choice for authors looking to monetize their work.

Alpha Novel is also a reputable platform to consider. It provides a platform for authors to publish their works and gain exposure to a wide audience. With its user-friendly interface and supportive community, Alpha Novel offers a great opportunity for authors to showcase their talent and connect with readers.

It is worth noting that all the aforementioned platforms remunerate authors once their books are completed. This means that authors have the potential to earn income from their writing, making it a viable option for those looking to pursue a career in writing.

To maximize your book’s exposure and potential earnings, I recommend participating in writing competitions. These competitions not only provide a platform for authors to showcase their work but also offer the chance to win prizes and gain recognition in the industry, allowing you to have that much-needed one foot into the door and be able to bring the next with a little more ease. By participating in writing competitions, authors can attract the attention of publishers and literary agents, increasing their chances of securing publishing deals.

If you are interested in print publishing, Draft2Digital and Bookbub are both excellent choices. They offer a seamless publishing process and automatically distribute your book to major sites such as Amazon and Barnes & Noble. This ensures that your book reaches a wide audience and increases its chances of being discovered by readers. However, please be aware that Draft2Digital currently does not offer colour printing options, so it is important to consider this limitation when deciding on the format of your book.

These are just a few options to consider, and there are certainly more platforms available that I cannot recall at the moment. It is always a good idea to research and explore different platforms to find the one that best suits your needs and goals as an author.

I hope this information proves helpful to you and other authors who are interested in finding the right online platforms and avenues to showcase their work and connect with readers.