OSM_1015

[Mature content. No rape]
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"Mr. Archer!" She hurried her footsteps after the cop, who seemed to have already memorized the way out of the small two-story house.

"It's Adrien, not Archer," he said, not bothering to turn around and look at her as he turned the door knob.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. "We need to talk, " she said, following him out of the house and closing the door behind her.

"I had enough time to spend with a dunderhead like you," she heard him say, and she fumed.

"How dare you?!" She fisted her palm furiously as she saw him walk past the little gate. "You son of a chameleon!"....

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In a world where mythical creatures like werewolves, vampires, and elves exist alongside humans, a long-standing war has left humans living in fear and captivity. Elves, once thriving, have become extinct due to the ongoing conflict. Alicia, the last surviving elf, is raised by Mrs. Anderson, whom she believes to be her biological mother.

However, when Alicia confronts a man named Adrien, whom she calls Mr. Archer, tensions rise. Adrien's apparent disdain for Alicia triggers a fiery exchange. Unbeknownst to Alicia, her unique heritage as the last elf will soon become a central focus in a world where mythical beings and humans clash.

This story promises intrigue, conflict, and a journey of self-discovery for Alicia as she grapples with her identity and the ongoing strife between mythical creatures and humans.

Hunting Down the Last Elf

The room unfolded before Gloria's eyes like a muted canvas, bearing the scars of time and neglect. The beige, worn-out paint clung to the walls, its color dulled and weary. Each brushstroke seemed to echo a tale of indifference, a room left in the shadows of grandeur.

The sparse furnishings mirrored the room's simplicity. Two single-sized beds stood as silent witnesses at opposite ends, their frames showing signs of wear and tear. The bareness of the space heightened the sense of abandonment. A worn-out wooden table, bearing the weight of forgotten moments, occupied the center. Its surface, etched with faint scratches and stains, held the memory of countless stories left unsaid.

Upon closer inspection, Gloria's eyes honed in on a small cabinet attached underneath the worn-out wooden table. With a hesitant hand, she reached for the tarnished handle, pulling the door open to unveil its meager contents.

The Courtroom Again