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Jess

  • Unlocked Chapters: 167
  • Novel Reviews: 1

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  • 👁 8.7K
  • 9.7

Daisy - Her parents sold her as a child to gain money, and locked into a life under contracts she finds herself sold from one owner to the next. Her final owner: Dean, uses her in a way none of her previous owners have, and his gambling addiction has the whole house of slaves moving from city to city. Their final stop is in the Devil's city, and there is where Daisy first meets Demitri Devil, and he learns that Dean is not the man that his brothers want in their city. However, Daisy isn't weak and isn't afraid to fight for what she wants. Demitri Devil - Meets Daisy at a brothel, where he pays extensive amounts to have her. Only once in the room, he isn't after s*x, instead, he asks her why she is doing it, telling her there surely is another way. He never goes there to buy women but to try to show them they can survive another way. Only he is stunned to find out Daisy makes no money from her time in those rooms. The second time he finds her there, she looks ready to drop and surprises his brothers when he arrives home with her for the night. Marcello Devil - He told Demitri he was crazy for bringing her home and buying her for the night to give her a break. Only he goes one further and he finds her in another business, he offers her a week away from Dean. Dean is all too pleased to take the money. Calix Devil - Seems to be the only one making his brothers realise they can't keep paying to keep Daisy for the weekend to get rest, but that goes wrong when they decide to buy her whole contract.

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  • 👁 37.5K
  • 9.0

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

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Heroes

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