Fantasy
On The Cardholm Train
There is a train in Wonderland that runs however it pleases with the clock. Behind it, with it, against it, ahead of it, or entirely above it, its lines won't run in time with the ticking of your pocket watch. The Glovemaker already knew that.
By Renata Ecclesia4 years ago in Fiction
The Well-Spring - Chapter 3
Link for Chapter 2 - The Clearing Chapter 3 - Scorching Sands The bright sunbeams thrust through the dense boughs of ancient trees. The light reflected off the leaves. The constant breeze rustled the leaves: green sequins against a brown canvas.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Fiction
The Well-Spring - Chapter 4
Chapter 3 - Scorching Sands Chapter 4 - The Great Battle Galadriel ran down the hall her footfalls echoing on the stone floor. When she arrived at the doorway of Arwen's room she met the worried gaze of the physician. Galadriel gasped when she noticed her daughter's blazing red cheeks and parched crimson lips. Arwen no longer lay peacefully as she had the night before. Writhing in obvious pain, Arwen appeared to be struggling for breath.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Fiction
Galiena Eldingar's Backstory
I’ve always been a bit of a troublemaker—well, I guess that's kind of a lie. We're off to a great start. I’ve always been a troublemaker, terrible as troublemakers come, and such has been my reputation throughout my life. My family never really appreciated the sort of lifestyle I was always in pursuit of as a little girl, so naturally, I made their lives harder. It was no fault of my own they were miserable, they simply refused to give in to my antics. All I wanted was no rules—I wanted free reign, bliss, whatever you want to call it. I broke things, I threw tantrums, but my parents always knew just what punishments set my teeth on edge. Of course, nothing kept me from misbehaving, but at the very least, their Hail Mary attempts to control my outrageous tendencies slowed me down.
By Maddy Newt4 years ago in Fiction
The Stargazers Garden
I was running. I didn’t know where or why. I didn’t know anything, and I loved it. The wind blew through my hair and I felt no pain, I wasn’t tired. I was free. I ran and ran. I swear I ran everywhere. But one small thing made me stop. It was a elderly lady watering some plants. `It was nothing out of the ordinary to see, but it was out of ordinary to feel. I knew she could teach me something, a lesson maybe.
By Sadie Hodges4 years ago in Fiction
The Lost Legacy of Ylltharien: Chapter 2
The immense crash of the dragon’s lifeless body falling to the ground awakened Isthyren from his revelry of amazement. He scrambled down the tree in a daze and ran over the uneven, rocky ground to the unconscious Althria’s side. The Sword of Ylltharien was gripped tightly in her right hand, dark dragon blood still sizzling on the translucent blade. Isthyren pried her fingers loose and held up the sword; reverence, awe, and doubt mingling together in his confused mind. The existence of the Sword of Ylltharien shook Isthyren’s entire existence, everything he had ever believed in, to the core. For the first time in years, he began to wonder if there really was truth in the ancient stories. But at the same time, the cynical skepticism he had nurtured for so long rebelled against his musings, refusing to let him embrace this newfound belief. He glanced down at Althria, wondering once again if this woman truly was Ylltharien’s heir?
By Thadyn Zachary R. Conner4 years ago in Fiction
The Turn
The Turn Relentless rain poured down the eighth storey window, obliterating the cityscape beyond into a fragmented melt of darkness and dazzle. The world had grown quiet and insular during the preceding month of constant downpour, badgering winds and bitter chills. No one ventured out.
By Mel Ziarno4 years ago in Fiction
Dragon Maise
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Kilara knew this dilapidated, forsaken place well. She had visited it many times in her visions of an uncertain world she was aware she would not see in her living years.
By Rajkumarie Devi4 years ago in Fiction
The Creak Beneath
Beneath the wood splintered floor of my old home laid a sinister labyrinth of the terrors of the unknown. As a child not even old enough to ride a bike this fear kept me up all night long. I would challenge the thought of something lurking in my room. Afterall, every child contemplates the idea at one point. It may be rather silly but with the eternal abyss of our minds we create something unspeakably that no genius in the world could explain.
By Emiliano MA4 years ago in Fiction
