“Wait,” her eyes sparkled and he braced himself for another sparring match with the wittiest woman he had ever met. But then she let out the tiniest moan and he was at the door before he even knew what he was doing. When she hurried to the kitchen, he at first hesitated to follow her. He’d scented the delicious smell of potatoes and chicken from the door of Aelin Galathynius’s apartment, and he was grateful his stomach didn’t rumble out loud. Rowan had to admit, the woman could cook. She was too absorbed in enjoying the taste and moving the potato morsel around in her mouth to fend off another burn, a moan of delight escaping her throat when she finally swallowed it, that she momentarily forgot that she had company. She snatched one up, tearing up as it burned her tongue. “We have homemade chips,” she took them out of the oven, “and they smell delicious.” The oven pinged, and she smiled excitedly as she hurried back to the kitchen. “If you are done inspecting me, miss, I can assure you that I am a live human, and I am not cursed.” He was wearing a black suit today, and it hugged his figure nicely. “Hello, Miss Galathynius,” said Rowan Whitethorn in his unflappable voice. The bell rang a third time and she jerked the door open, a curse flying off her lips. “Coming,” she shouted as she quickly turned down the fire on the stove and checked on the potato chips slowly cooking in the oven. It rang again, more insistently this time, and she frowned. The bell rang, and she quickly turned down the music blasting on her radio. She chuckled at the thought, his scowling dark green eyes flashing in her mind. Mr Rowan Whitethorn did look like a cursed soul. She couldn’t take all the credit, however.
She only had to say legend and they were eating the lies right out of the palm of her hand. The new couple who had been interested in the apartment next door had clearly been conspiracy theorists. “Good,” Rowan stood up, shrugging his suit jacket on. They don’t even want to come close to you.” “They’re afraid they’ll catch your curse, sir.” “They, um –“ the intern fidgeted, his face ashen. “Put them on the line, I’ll talk some sense into them.” The intern attempted a smile, though it came out as a grimace. “You’re telling me they believed this bullshit? The apartment is barely 10 years old!” Rowan was struck dumb by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
#Fanfiction writing challenge free
They can only be free once they sell it away.’” And their soul is tied to the apartment for as long as it belongs to them. Every owner is killed in the living room as a sacrifice to the moon. “Basically, and I quote: ‘Legend has it this apartment is cursed. “Why would a ghost be interested in real estate?” And is trying to sell this apartment to someone else.” But because the victim has such a strong soul, or chakra, or aura –” “They said blood has been spilled in that apartment, tying its victim to it. He grinned, maybe he was going to win this war after all. “What did they complain about this time?” “Mister Whitethorn,” Ellys called from the door of Rowan’s office, panting.
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