✨CM Aragon✨| Author

@worldsofaragon.bsky.social

1605 Followers 555 Following

Dark Fantasy & Horror Romance Author | Lover of all things dark and morbid | Hopeless Romantic | PNW Based THE CALL OF CHAOS IS OUT NOW! https://linktr.ee/worldsofaragon

The shadow slipped away once more, but this time Rue turned the other way, hoping to cut whatever — or whoever — this was off before they could get away. It was a dead end. The shadow had disappeared, vanishing into thin air but now Rue found herself standing before the ominous iron door. Her heart hammered with fear against her ribs, breaths coming out in harsh and almost panicked pants. Did that figure lead her here? But why?
Rue curled into him, trusting the stranger implicitly without knowing why. His arms felt so familiar around her. Like a memory that only remained in scattered pieces. She felt safe and warm with him. The cold, biting wind no longer permeated her skin. “Who are you?” she whispered, trying to make sense of his blurred features. The man answered but ignored her question entirely. “You have to wake up now.” Rue sat bolt upright in her bed with a start. It was just a dream.
The duke's tongue swiped across the seam of her lips before pressing past them. Not asking permission, instead giving warning. Rue let out a soft moan and screwed her eyes shut. His kiss tasted smoky yet sweet. The scent of his spiced cologne overwhelmed her senses, leaving her mind empty of everything but him. Every touch was electrifying, and she longed for more.
A trope chart for the Call of Chaos by CM Aragon. Tropes include reincarnation, secret underground library, old gods, gothic vibes, broody mmc, anxiety rep, masquerade ball, found family, plus size fmc, horror fantasy, annoyances to lovers.
Fia shook her head with an apologetic frown, "My sister, she won't leave the house anymore. Not after what they did to her," she explained. Rue tilted her head curiously, her lips curving downward. “These are marks of magic, yes,” she explained, showing Rue the tattoo on her other hand, “I was marked when the villagers found us — my sister and I — in the woods. She was only trying to help, but of course, they couldn’t see that.” Fia’s face contorted into a look that was equal parts rage and sadness, "They didn't want to see it."
crocheted stained glass window with a black frame and early dawn colors of purple, blue, orange and yellow
Rue slowed to a halt, taking one last moment to appreciate the scenery before entering the double doors of the manor. Crumbling gargoyles lined the perimeter of the roof, spouting water from their mischievous mouths, while moss and vine covered grotesques sat along the base, watchfully observing any visitors that came through. The duke's manor was oddly morose in its outer decor, but Rue still found it beautiful none-the-less.
It always seemed to be raining in Penrith. The dirty, crumbling cobblestone streets were slick with spilled oil on the water as Rue trudged her way through the deep puddles, boots already soaked through to her stockings underneath. The dreary sky above was full of dark clouds, making the fading black paint of the buildings on the main road swallow what little light managed to pierce through.
Dru's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and she noticed the dark, gauzy shrouds that covered everything else in the room. On her left, what looked like it might have been some kind of altar remained. Nothing but nearly spent candles and a random assortment of trinkets and offerings decorated the space. But above it was yet another shroud that clearly hid a frame — whether it was a mirror or a portrait beneath, Dru didn't know. Something in her wanted to rip the shroud down and expose what lie beneath. Whatever it was wanted her to look. Wanted her to see. “Bell? Bell, where are you?” She called, nearly having to wrench herself away from the strange magnetism of the covered frame. Only silence answered back. A heavy, oppressive silence.
Rue pushed open the manor's heavy iron gate. The squeal of its rusted and corroded hinges seemed louder in the somber quiet of the early morning. The sound set her teeth on edge. A dense fog rolled through the courtyard statuary, curling around her battered brown boots in a gentle caress as she walked. Morning dew clung to the closed eyelids of the weeping statues, adding to their already dark tear streaks.