Gothikana Quotes

This will last until the day roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,” he declared. “I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.

If this is madness,” she whispered almost against his lips, “drown me in it.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,” she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. “You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

I would’ve kissed you bathed in blood, Corvina. If I had a chance to kiss you while a thousand ghosts rose from their graves, I would have kissed you. Don’t doubt that.

I’m in your head, in your blood, in your very veins. I’ve claimed you before anything else ever could. Your body, your heart, your mind, your fucking soul, it’s all mine. Your hunger is mine to feed, your madness is mine to tame. Do you feel that?

If this is madness,” he told her, echoing her words against her lips, “I’ve already descended too far.

Books had become her refuge, especially books with men—humans, shapeshifters, or aliens—who fell in love hard and claimed their women, body and soul, were her favorite.

I will never be a good man. But you don’t need a good man, do you? You need a devil to fight your demons because you don’t want to fight them alone.

I will not let you go into the unknown alone.

Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?

I’m done denying this. You’ve haunted me long enough. And I don’t care if you’re haunted by forces beyond your understanding or if it’s all in your head. You’re mine now. For as long as this madness ensues.

Steer clear of me, little crow,” he muttered, his eyes piercing, flaying her open. “You might be a luring siren but I’m no ordinary sailor. I’m a mad pirate and I’m trying to resist your call. If I land on your shores, I will plunder and take away everything worth having. Be very careful giving me those eyes.

She wanted to suspend time and live in the feelings he elicited in her, a warm, beautiful riot of colors in her dark heart.

This is lust,” she whispered, trying to validate it, excuse it. “No, Corvina,” the side of his lips twitched. “I’ve known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

She had sorcery in those eyes, and he was bewitched, besotted, begone.

He smelled of dangerous adventures and coming home, of heartache and nostalgia.

She was his, for now and for life, and if there was an afterlife, then maybe in that too.

Beautiful in the way pain was beautiful, because it tugged at the chest and made something visceral come alive in the stomach and caused blood to simmer in the veins. Enchanting in the way she imagined dark magic was, because it twisted the air around it and warped the mind and overpowered the senses. Haunting in the way only very few living things could be, because it sent a shiver down the spine and cloaked itself in the darkness and fed on the energy around them.

It means that while I’m not a good man, not by any stretch of the imagination, I’m not the evil haunting this place. I’m the evil hunting for it.

He saw, truly saw, into her moon of a soul, one with blemishes and scars and a dark side unseen and unknown even to herself.

If someone even touched the hair on your head, I would do much worse to them without any remorse. And I’m smart enough and rich enough to never get caught.

You see me.” Her lips trembled, the realization that this man saw her, truly saw her, and still watched her with that look in his eyes making something inside her shift. “I see you.” His silver gaze seared her. “I’ve always seen you.

It makes me want things, little crow.” “Things like what?” she whispered, her heart in her throat, her gaze locked with his. “Things like my fist in your hair and my tongue in your mouth,” he told her harshly, the lines of his face strained. “Things like fucking you in front of the boy who held your hand, just to tell him you’ll never be his. Things like bending you over my desk after class and telling you to wrap your lips around my cock like you do with your pencil.

She wanted him to be proud of her as she was of him, wanted him to look at her and see a talented, passionate girl and not the hot mess she mostly was.

She turned the ring. ‘I will not let you go into the unknown alone.

I’m building my castle brick by brick in the middle of the storm, and I’m wondering if the mountain underneath my feet will crumble.” She turned her neck to catch his eyes. “You’re my mountain, my Vad. I don’t know how and I don’t understand why, but somehow, I’m building my castle on you.

We shouldn’t be doing this,” “No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed, thankfully not stopping. “I need to stay away from you. I don’t know what sorcery this is,” he whispered to her, his words floating over her face as he leaned closer, “but I have to stop.

My little witch with those fucking purple eyes, fucking made for me. And I’m your devil, am I not?

Magic eyes, magic pussy," he murmured again, looking all over her face. "Little witch.

She wondered how those fingers would feel sifting through her hair, stroking the side of her face, sliding over the skin of her neck down to her breasts, playing her like the piano she’d seen him on that first night. Her nipples pebbled. “That’s not a look you give your teacher, little crow.

I told you not to give me those eyes.” Silver met violet in a dark corner of the library. “Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?” She did.

You said we wouldn’t do this again,” she reminded him just as quietly, leaning her chin on the armrest. “That was long before I had a taste of you. Long before I woke up alone in my bed after the best sleep I’ve had in years.

She realized it was possibly the first time in her life she was feeling lust induced by an actual man and not a fictional character. This was what it felt like—writhing, hot, velvety. This was lust. And she wanted to roll in it.

He was... magnificent. Beautiful in the way pain was beautiful, because it tugged at the chest and made something visceral come alive in the stomach and caused blood to simmer in the veins. Enchanting in the way she imagined dark magic was, because it twisted the air around it and warped the mind and overpowered the senses. Haunting in the way only very few living things could be, because it sent a shiver down the spine and cloaked itself in the darkness and fed on the energy around them.

She realized she had actually stopped caring so much for social acceptance as of late, feeling less lonely and more whole,

No, Corvina,” the side of his lips twitched. “I’ve known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This will last until the day roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours...I will have you even in death

his possession of her was complete, and if they were to ever part ways, he would haunt her for eternity.

Something between them—chemical, emotional, psychological, she didn’t know—came together like molten lava and hot ash, caused by an eruption unpredictable to them both.

The Devil, The Lovers, and The Tower. The same cards her mother had pulled in her nightmare.

he was possibly the most darkly beautiful man she had ever seen, that he played like he had been cursed to play for his life.

Stay out of the woods, little crow. Your feathery friends can’t help you if you’re dead.

You're taking all of my firsts, Mr. Deverell," she whispered quietly as a confession. His arm tightened. "I will take all of your lasts, too, Miss Clemm. Mark my words.

Only these trees knew the truth of everything that had happened here, and sometimes, she wished there was a way for her to listen to their stories.

Eyes on her, he rubbed his wet finger over her lower lip slowly, coating it with her moistness, then leaned forward, licking the juice he’d smeared there. Her walls clenched. “Ambrosia,

He existed somewhere between the black and white when he played; and in that moment she wanted to exist in that subspace with him, see what he saw, hear what he heard, feel what he felt.

This will last until the day roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours.I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.

You want to know who I am?” he punched his hips harshly against her. “I,” slam “am” slam “your” slam “madness.” He bit the side of her neck, wild in his passion. “I’m in your head, in your blood, in your very veins. I’ve claimed you before anything else ever could. Your body, your heart, your mind, your fucking soul, it’s all mine. Your hunger is mine to feed, your madness is mine to tame. Do you feel that?

This is lust", she whispered, trying to validate it, excuse it. "No, Corvina" the side of his lips twitched. "I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness".

Human contact was such a precious thing. Only people who had been starved of touch knew the value of it, knew never to take it for granted, especially something so intimate as sleeping beside someone. As someone who had always slept alone,

The slut went and slept with him,” Jade grit out, leaning forward. “He was mine.” “He’s… your grandfather is the same. He’s your family,” Corvina stuttered. “He’s mine,” the girl shouted suddenly, making Corvina flinch, her green eyes going wild, the wind hard in her short hair. “We both have Deverell blood in us.

He also knew that if she showed symptoms enough to concern the doctors, he would move mountains to get her the help and support she would need, something her mother never got. And if someday, she truly did forget him, he would remain her mountain and keep her blooming with everything he felt for her. She was his, for now and for life, and if there was an afterlife, then maybe in that

But the voice she heard in that forest wasn’t her subconscious. It couldn’t be. Or could it? Because if it was truly in her head, Verenmore posed bigger problems than mysterious woods and mysterious men. It meant her descent into madness had begun.

He was... magnificent. Beautiful in the way pain was beautiful, because it tugged at the chest and made something visceral come alive in the stomach and caused blood to simmer in the veins. Enchanting in the way she imagined dark magic was, because it twisted the air around it and warped the mind and overpowered the senses.

And Corvina knew, kissing him in that darkened classroom of an empty castle building, that his possession of her was complete, and if they were to ever part ways, he would haunt her for eternity.

He pressed another hard kiss to her mouth. “Your lipstick tastes good. Pomegranates?” he mused, licking his moist lips. “Wipe it off me.

If this is madness,” she whispered almost against his lips, “drown me in it.” “Jesus fuck,” the expletive left his mouth right before he closed the distance, crashing his lips over hers.

She walked on, seeing the thick, roughened barks of tall trees, lush with dense growth, webbing through the overhead sky like splinters, cracks in a glass barely holding together jagged edges, ready to bleed anything it touched.

That was long before I had a taste of you. Long before I woke up alone in my bed after the best sleep I’ve had in years.

Holding the letter that she got weeks ago in her hands—a letter written in ink on browned, thick paper that smelled as old, beloved books did—she perused the words again.

she whispered almost against his lips,

Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded. “Tell me I finally get you Corvina Clemm.

You’re mine now. For as long as this madness ensues.

This will last until the day roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,’ he declared. ‘I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,’ she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. ‘You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

I’ve known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

If this is madness,’ she whispered almost against his lips, ‘drown me in it.

If this is madness,’ he told her, echoing her words against her lips, ‘I’ve already descended too far.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, spinning in a kaleidoscope of sensations. She kissed the intrigue on his lips, the mysteries on his mouth, the secrets on his tongue.

If this is madness,” she whispered almost against his lips, “drown me in it.” ~Gothikana

The Death card.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick. You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

This will last until the day the roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours. I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you're my afterlife.

This is happening, little crow,” he whispered softly against her lips, pinching her nipple between his fingers. “I’m done denying this. You’ve haunted me long enough. And I don’t care if you’re haunted by forces beyond your understanding or if it’s all in your head. You’re mine now. For as long as this madness ensues.

The same melody he’d been playing that night, that haunting melody of anguish that had somehow wormed its way into her being. She closed her eyes, hearing it in her memory, the notes flowing like blood through her veins, his posture, his closed eyes, his pained stance etched in her mind.

If this is madness,” he told her, echoing her words against her lips, “I’ve already descended too far.” His mouth came over hers again, this time with the weight of his large palm at her lower back,

Will you regret it after?” she asked him, remembering the aftermath of their kiss.  Understanding dawned over his face in the dark. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her nose, right above her piercing. “I never regretted kissing you, little crow.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick. You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

Steer clear of me, little crow," He muttered, his eyes piecring, flaying her open. "You might be a luring siren but I am no ordinary sailor. I'm a mad pirate and I'm trying to resist your call. If I land on your shores, I will plunder and take away everything worth having. Be very careful giving me those eyes.

And this mountain would crack before it let anything happen to your castle. Remember that.

He might not have been speaking to her verbally, but his eyes said a lot. His eyes had been giving her words that only fanned the flames in her blood.

His eyes had been giving her words that only fanned the flames in her blood. His eyes had been whispering dirty things that made her skin flush just imagining them.

Eyes on her, he rubbed his wet finger over her lower lip slowly, coating it with her moistness, then leaned forward, licking the juice he’d smeared there.

Things like fucking you in front of the boy who held your hand, just to tell him you’ll never be his. Things like bending you over my desk after class and telling you to wrap your lips around my cock like you do with your pencil.

If this is madness,' she whispered almost against his lips, 'drown me in it.

She wanted, she wanted, to the marrow of her bones, oh how she wanted him, without truly knowing him, knowing who he was or where he came from. It was madness. The molecules in her body recognized the molecules in his, the madness in her blood recognized the madness in his, the melancholy in her soul recognized the melancholy in his.

Why do mornings come?” Jade groaned from her bed,

Here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more. Edgar Allan Poe

I will not let you go into the unknown alone. Bram Stoker

Silences were comfortable but most people didn’t feel that way.

Silences were comfortable but most people didn’t feel that way. She was realizing that most people had an unnecessary need to fill silences, a need she didn’t share.

You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,” she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. “You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.

The molecules in her body recognized the molecules in his, the madness in her blood recognized the madness in his, the melancholy in her soul recognized the melancholy in his.

This is our madness.

Human contact was such a precious thing. Only people who had been starved of touch knew the value of it, knew to never take it for granted, especially something so intimate like sleeping beside someone.

I would've kissed you bathed in blood, Corvina. If I had a chance to kiss you while a thousand ghosts rose from their graves, I would have kissed you. Don't doubt that.

Verenmore was her clean slate, and Vad Deverell was her writing on the wall.