Fantasy

Le Carillon de Pâques
Introduction Le carillon de Pâques translates to "the Easter chime" or "the Easter bells" in English. This phrase refers to the ringing of church bells on Easter Sunday.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 6 months ago in Chapters
I Still Remember the Way You Looked at Me
I Still Remember the Way You Looked at Me Some feelings were real… even if we never said them out loud. BY: Khan The first time I noticed the way you looked at me, it wasn’t dramatic. There was no slow motion, no background music, no sudden realization that something had changed. It was just a quiet moment in a crowded room—ordinary, almost forgettable. But somehow, it stayed. We were sitting across from each other at that small café we used to go to after classes. You were talking about something—I don’t even remember what—but I remember your eyes. They weren’t just looking at me. They were seeing me. Like you were trying to memorize something you didn’t want to lose. I laughed it off at the time. I always did. We became close without even realizing when it happened. Late-night calls, random texts, inside jokes no one else understood. You were the person I went to when things felt heavy, and somehow, you always made them lighter. But there was always something unspoken between us. Something in the way you paused before hanging up. Something in the way your voice softened when you said my name. Something in the way you looked at me—like I was more than just a friend. And maybe I knew. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it. Because admitting it would mean risking everything. And I wasn’t ready to lose you. So I stayed silent. Days turned into months, and months into something deeper—something neither of us dared to define. People around us started noticing. They’d tease us, ask questions, assume things. We always denied it. “It’s not like that.” But the truth was… it was like that. We just didn’t know what to do about it. Then came the night everything almost changed. We were walking back after dinner, the streets quiet, the city lights reflecting in puddles from the earlier rain. You stopped suddenly, and I turned to look at you. That look again. The same one from the café. But stronger this time. Clearer. “I need to tell you something,” you said. My heart started racing, but I forced myself to stay calm. “What is it?” You hesitated. Just for a second. But in that second, I saw everything—fear, hope, uncertainty. And then you smiled. “Never mind,” you said. “It’s not important.” But it was. I knew it was. And I let it go. That was the moment we lost something we never even had. After that night, things started to change. Slowly at first. You became distant, quieter. The calls became shorter. The messages less frequent. I told myself it was normal. People get busy. Life happens. But deep down, I knew. I knew something had shifted. And I had let it. Then one day, you told me you were leaving. It wasn’t sudden—you had been planning it for a while. A new city, a new job, a new life. You sounded excited, hopeful. I smiled and said I was happy for you. But inside, something broke. We met one last time before you left. The same café. The same table. But everything felt different. There was a distance between us now, something invisible but impossible to ignore. We talked about everything except what mattered. Until the silence grew too loud. “I’m going to miss this,” you said softly. “Me too,” I replied. And then it happened again. That look. But this time, it wasn’t just warmth or curiosity. It was something deeper. Something heavier. Something like goodbye. “I wish things were different,” you said. I wanted to ask what you meant. I wanted to say something—anything—to stop you from walking away with all the words we never said. But I didn’t. I just nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes this time. And just like that, it was over. You left. Days passed, then weeks. We still talked sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. Eventually, even that faded. And now, all I have are memories. Not the big ones. Not the dramatic moments or the almost-confessions. Just the small ones. The way you used to laugh at my terrible jokes. The way you always knew when something was wrong, even when I said I was fine. And most of all… The way you looked at me. I still think about it sometimes. Late at night, when everything is quiet, and there’s nothing to distract me. I wonder what would have happened if I had said something that night. If I had been brave enough to ask you to stay. If I had told you the truth. That I felt it too. That I was just as scared. That I didn’t want to lose you either. But some moments don’t come back. Some chances don’t repeat. And some people… they leave behind a look you never forget. I still remember the way you looked at me. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Because I know… No one has ever looked at me like that again.
By Khan 6 months ago in Chapters
You Left Without a Warning
You Left Without a Warning Some goodbyes don’t come with words—just silence that echoes forever. ‎BY: Ubaid I still remember the last normal day we had. It was one of those quiet evenings that didn’t feel special at the time—but somehow, it became unforgettable later. We sat across from each other, a small table between us, two cups of tea slowly losing their warmth. You were talking about something random, something I can’t even fully recall now… and yet, I remember the way your eyes softened when you smiled. That smile felt like home. If I had known that would be the last time I’d ever see you like that, I would have paid more attention. I would have memorized every detail—the way you held your cup, the way your voice lowered when you got tired, the way you looked at me like I mattered. But life doesn’t give warnings like that. The next day, you were gone. No message. No explanation. No goodbye. Just… silence. At first, I didn’t believe it. I thought maybe you were busy. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe something unexpected had come up. I tried calling you once… then again… and again. No answer. I sent a message: “Hey, where are you?” Minutes passed. Then hours. Still nothing. Another message: “Are you okay? I’m a little worried.” The longer you didn’t respond, the heavier my chest felt. My thoughts began to spiral into places I couldn’t control. I convinced myself something terrible had happened—because the truth felt too painful to accept. You wouldn’t just leave… right? By the second day, panic had turned into confusion. I checked your social media. You were gone there too—or maybe you had just made yourself invisible to me. That thought hit harder than anything else. Because it meant one thing: This wasn’t an accident. This was a choice. I spent days trying to understand why. Was it something I said? Something I did? Or maybe something I failed to do? I replayed every conversation in my mind, searching for a moment where things shifted—some hidden crack I didn’t notice at the time. But everything felt normal. You were happy. You were present. You stayed… until you didn’t. Time started moving in a strange way after that. The world didn’t stop—but it felt like mine did. Everywhere I went, there was a memory of you waiting for me. The café we loved. The songs you used to play. Even silence reminded me of you. Especially silence. Because that’s all you left behind. People told me to move on. “It happens,” they said. “Maybe they weren’t meant for you.” But those words didn’t help. Because how do you move on from something that never really ended? There was no closure. No final conversation. No explanation to hold onto. Just a story that stopped in the middle, leaving me to guess how it was supposed to end. And those unfinished endings… they stay with you. Weeks turned into months. At some point, I stopped calling. Not because I stopped caring—but because I finally understood something I had been avoiding: If you wanted to stay, you would have. Love doesn’t disappear without a trace overnight. People don’t vanish without a reason. And maybe I’ll never know yours. But I learned that sometimes, not knowing is the answer. Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came slowly—through small, quiet changes. I started spending time with people who showed up, who stayed, who didn’t make me question my worth. I picked up habits that made me feel alive again. I learned how to sit with my own thoughts without letting them break me. And somewhere along the way, I began to see things differently. Your leaving wasn’t about me not being enough. It was about you not being able to stay. One evening, months later, I found myself back at that same café. Same table. Same tea. But a different version of me. I sat there, expecting to feel that old pain again—but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a strange sense of calm. Like I had finally made peace with something that once destroyed me. I thought about you. Not with anger. Not even with sadness. Just… acceptance. Maybe you had your reasons. Maybe you didn’t. But I no longer needed to know. Because I had learned something more important than any explanation you could have given me: Not everyone who walks into your life is meant to stay. Some people come to teach you something—about love, about loss, about yourself. And sometimes, the lesson only makes sense after they’re gone. You taught me how strong I could be. You taught me that silence can hurt more than words. But most importantly, you taught me that I deserve someone who chooses me—not just once, not just when it’s easy—but every single day. So yes… You left without a warning. But I didn’t disappear with you. I stayed. I healed. I grew. And in the end, I found something I didn’t even realize I had lost while loving you— Myself.
By Ubaid 6 months ago in Chapters
Umbratus Unveiled
She landed on something soft, hearing a crunch under her feet. Glancing down Avea saw tiny flecks of amethyst grains shimmering beneath her. Sand. She'd been right, Umbratus was a desert moon. Reaching down she felt the grainy texture between her fingers, marvelling at the astonishing shade of the sand. She stood upwards craning her neck, seeing endless dunes of amethyst sands that rolled on and on into the starry nebulae horizon. Where twin moons hung low and heavy over the dunes, casting silver light that made each grain glittering faintly as the soft breeze blew across it in shimmering waves. Beneath the stillness there was a faint hum, like the dunes were drawing breath and filling the air with a soft whispers that carried over the rolling sands. Avea sensed a mystical essence brushing at the edge of her senses, but there was nothing else surrounding her except the endless sands and her shadowed silhouette. Until the six torrents of shadows appeared beside her unveiling the rest of the claimed, "not a lick of water ... this sucks" Seegar whined. Her attention diverted to Seeger who wore a helmet that seemingly kept his body moist in the dry humid terrain. Inspecting closer the rest of his attire was imbued with aquatic power, as his teal wrapped tunic curved like ripples on water.
By KEATA6 months ago in Chapters
How to Speak So That People Want to Listen
It usually happens a few seconds in. You’re talking, you think you’re making sense, maybe even saying something important—and then you feel it. That tiny shift. Their eyes flick somewhere else. Their posture changes. They nod, but it’s automatic now. You’re still speaking, but you’re no longer being heard.
By John Smith6 months ago in Chapters
Unsought Visitor
A hissing, sparkling vibration appears abruptly, sound and luminescence generating within the dreary dwelling where silence and shadow were my only companions. Dilating in intensity and dimension a lucent bead hum, gyrating wildly, growing larger and kaleidoscopic with each rotation. Sudden obscurity as a mysterious, soft, pliant material envelopes the globe possessively. A floral fragrance burst from the greedy clasp of the yielding substance, as it secrets the sphere from view.
By Kami R. Taylons6 months ago in Chapters
Lyra. Content Warning.
Lyra Rivers pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the bus window, counting the city lights as they blurred past. Sixteen foster homes, three cities, zero answers. Her fingers clenched around the old locket in her pocket, gripping it so tightly the metal left an imprint on her skin.
By Alexis Whitehead6 months ago in Chapters
How the human brain creates time in the absence of a clock
According to a recent study, the brain develops our sense of time through a series of unique processing processes across several brain regions rather than relying on a single internal clock. This discovery reinterprets time perception as something that is created gradually rather than being quantified.
By Francis Dami6 months ago in Chapters
The Last Heir of the Van Declaoria Bloodline - Chapter 12. AI-Generated.
The road into Arlein stretched long and silent beneath the dim glow of early dawn. As the golden sunrise lit the eastern sky, an eerie feeling hung in the air.
By Luke Dreayry6 months ago in Chapters
Chapter one
The memory was still fresh in my brain, it felt like yesterday. I looked down at the living jewelry curling around my wrist making its way up to dance through my fingers.
By Aliceandra6 months ago in Chapters
Hue and The Discovery of Manipo (Chapter 4). AI-Generated.
Every hair on my body rose as David’s eyes locked onto mine. It wasn’t fear that hit me first — it was recognition. Not of his face, but of the feeling washing over me. My body wouldn’t move. Not an inch. The paralysis wasn’t shock or instinct. It was precise. Intentional. A force aimed directly at me.
By Lorenzo Bland6 months ago in Chapters
Fall From Grace
Slipping my hand to separate olive brown curtains but a fraction, enough only for a sliver of sunlight to penetrate a corner of my self imposed prison. My eyes rest upon needlepoint as a pang of loss stabs, as if I was plucked from my old life and discarded into my present life. My amber eyes trace my stitchwork, 'Amelia' stitched lovingly in calligraphy with gold embroidery thread. A pattern, once so proud of designing, now lay forgotten on my favorite sitting chair. My name floated above a beautifully shaped feminine hand done in a satin stitch, with viny morning glories wrapping around each digit. Vines transitioning nonchalantly into dangling gold chains dripping with small teardrop emeralds, as though the stem weeps through the Victorian French filigree, magically transforming into precious stones. Sighing, with a heavy heart, as my eyes sweep my beloved hand carved walnut Victorian antique chair, upholstered in gold and gingerly sprinkled with ivory flowers, yet awaiting my return as though shaming me for being away so long. Grandmother's Edwardian cut crystal lamp's beauty hides under a dusty layer, the lone survivor of a set, she purchased as a newlywed, rest upon a vintage walnut end table on top a champagne crocheted doily.
By Kami R. Taylons6 months ago in Chapters