Fiction
The Gravedancer’s Waltz Part - 3
A thin veil of dusk laced the estate, though time’s rhythm had already begun to stutter. Elira stood alone in the music room, her fingers brushing the spines of abandoned scores. Each parchment pulsed faintly with residual magic—inked not with notes but sigils. These were not mortal compositions. They were fragments of memory, twisted and set to melody. When she whispered a note aloud, a chandelier above her flickered in time.
By Richard Baileyabout a year ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 179
Loreen looked at her smartwatch. She had spent the morning and late afternoon crafting her course on Chancery Courts in Delaware. She had an expression on her face that spoke of quiet resilience. With the fight against lethargy long gone, she focused on her role as a closer. Her white blouse and blue jeans seemed to comfort her. They hugged her tiny frame and allowed her the ease of just standing in front of her desktop computer.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
The One Moment That Changed Everything
They say life can change in a moment, but no one ever tells you that sometimes the change is so quiet, so small, that you don’t even know it happened until much later. My moment came in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday. Nothing grand, nothing cinematic. Just a hallway, a backpack, and a voicemail.
By wilson wongabout a year ago in Chapters
The Gravedancer’s Waltz Part - 2
The clock in the east wing struck midnight, though no one had wound it for centuries. A hush fell over the cursed estate, broken only by the soft strains of violin music that rose not from instruments, but from the walls themselves, echoes of a party that never ended. The ballroom lit from within like a lantern, casting golden light into the frostbitten gardens where no blooms dared grow.
By Richard Baileyabout a year ago in Chapters
Last Train to the Stars
Last Train to the Stars: They called it the Odyssey Line—the last train Earth would ever build. Not a train in the old sense, with tracks and stations. This one launched like a rocket, curved around the broken bones of the moon, and vanished into deep space. Only a few knew its true destination. Fewer still had ever come back.
By Salah Uddinabout a year ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 177
Colors descended from the sky as lights flashed. The groundbreaking of “Entrepreneur Paul” Atkinson’s website had just been unveiled. Applause arose. Great throngs of people made it look like a parade outside of the offices. The first transaction occurred when Atkinson bought a pint of ice cream from an up-and-comer’s Creamery called Dice’s Ice.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
The Gravedancer’s Waltz Part - 1
The forest grew too still. Even the wind held its breath as the trio stepped beyond the last line of trees and beheld the forgotten ruin of Valemire Estate. Moonlight glazed the crumbling spires, and the ivy-strangled balconies jutted like bones from a rotted corpse. The manor stood silent on a hill of frost-hardened grass, its many windows aglow with flickering gold light that could not, should not, exist.
By Richard Baileyabout a year ago in Chapters
The Secret Drawer
Growing up, there was one rule in our house I never dared to break: Don’t touch the drawer in Dad’s study. It was an ordinary drawer in an old wooden desk — scratched, dusty, the handle barely hanging on. But to me, it might as well have been a vault. Dad’s tone made it clear — that drawer was off-limits. So, I didn’t ask. I didn’t sneak. I obeyed. For years. Until curiosity outweighed fear. It was a Saturday. Dad was fixing the car, Mom was out shopping, and I was cleaning the study as part of my chores. The drawer seemed to hum with quiet temptation. My hands shook as I reached for it, expecting alarms to go off, expecting my dad to burst in, furious. But nothing happened. The drawer wasn’t locked. It slid open with a tired creak — revealing a stack of letters, old photographs, and a small, faded box. At first, it looked harmless. But then I saw the photo on top — a woman smiling, holding a baby. My breath caught. The woman wasn’t my mom. The baby wasn’t me. I sat down, sifting through letters written in Dad’s handwriting, dated years before I was born. Letters full of apologies, promises, regrets — addressed to someone named Evelyn. My heart raced as puzzle pieces fell into place. I dug deeper, finding birth certificates, hospital bills, legal documents. Dad had another family. A son. A woman he loved before my mom. My chest tightened. My head spun with questions. Why didn’t I know? Who were they? What happened? The sound of Dad’s footsteps snapped me back to reality. I shoved the drawer shut, heart pounding, mind reeling. That evening, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t speak. My world felt… different. Shattered. Days passed before I confronted him. I found him in the study, staring at the same drawer like it held ghosts. “I opened it,” I admitted, voice barely steady. His shoulders sagged. His eyes, usually sharp and controlled, softened with sadness. “I always wondered when you would,” he whispered. He explained everything. How he fell in love young. How they had a son — my half-brother. How tragedy struck — an accident, a bitter separation, a lifetime of buried pain. “I kept it all hidden, thinking I could erase the past,” he confessed. “But I’ve learned… the past doesn’t stay buried.” We talked for hours. About mistakes. Regrets. Secrets that fester in silence. I cried — for the brother I never met, for the father I thought I knew, for the child version of me who lived in a house of hidden truths. It took time, but I forgave him. And I reached out. Months later, I met my half-brother. We shared awkward smiles, cautious words, the weight of years between us. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. That drawer isn’t forbidden anymore. It’s a reminder — that the truth, no matter how heavy, is better than living behind locked doors.
By Straylightabout a year ago in Chapters
