Fantasy

Her Smile Was the Last Clue
The Girl Who Smiled at Rain It all began in the quiet town of Willowbrook, where the rain fell almost every afternoon, and the streets smelled of old books and roses.
By Muhammad Hayatabout a year ago in Fiction
Into The Mangroves
As I step foot on the pancake battered sand, I sink deep into the powdery earth. Tiger tail shells scatter in the sand softly with their red-orange color beaming brightly enough to compete with sunrise shells in Kauai. Their yellow ridges fan out, resembling a brilliant setting sunset. Each one having slightly different colors radiating from orange to fuchsia hues. My favorite shells have a spray effect with powdery rusty red paintbrush outlining the ridges of the Tiger tails.
By Tony Martelloabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
Danae was often blind, deaf, and mute when it came to the reckless decisions that spewed out of Perseus’ often idle mind. Her son was all she had and she wanted him to be free and happy without her restricting him and maybe just maybe the empty feeling he always felt would go away. Even if she tried to guide him it was of no use, he was as stubborn as the donkey in Polydectes' courtyard that had refused to work for the past month despite the merciless whips it got. she thought of him more like the sun, you don't command it to rise or set or disappear it does as it pleases, majestically. This time would be different, this decision would be more than just reckless and she was going to try to stop her sun, she didn’t want her sun to set forever leaving her to the darkness to feast on her. However, she would not hear of these antics from the horse's mouth but instead from the one that fed the horse with the idea. “Danae!” A familiar and unpleasant voice called from behind her. She tried to subtly increase her pace. “Danae!” he yelled louder than before, drawing everyone's attention even the deaf beggar must have heard him from the way he stared at her. She stopped, waiting for him to get to her. “Polydectes,” she smiled as he approached “Your majesty,” she bowed her head and curtsied, dreading the conversation that was going to erupt between them, she already knew what the conversation would revolve around. They’d frequently had this conversation since Perseus had reached the mature age for marriage. “You have been on my mind lately,” Polydectes would always break the ice, that was already broken. “ Oh, you have?” she would always respond. She could recite their interaction and knew his intentions though she pretended to be oblivious. “I have, of what your life would be like after…” he cleared his throat “Perseus?” he whispered like it was a secret only she should know “And what would have happened to Perseus?” she asked softly suppressing her annoyance. “Well, he will marry one day or you may…” he clears his throat as if he was preparing her for a revelation “He may not return from his quest” What quest? she wondered, Perseus hadn't mentioned any quest. Polydectes could read the confusion that imprinted all over Danae on the mention of the quest. “Well, on my birthday feast, you see. He promised the severed head of the mortal gorgon…” He paused to watch Danae’s expression turn from confusion to horror. It couldn't be who I think it is she hoped in her heart “Medusa” he whispered with amusement tingling in his tone confirming what Danae feared. “Medusa,” she gasped. Euryale watched the clueless colony of tourists touring the beach and venturing into their territory, Sthetho scanned through the treasures they brought out of their ship while Medusa was supposed to plot the routes they’d use to hunt but instead got distracted by the sunset. As the sun set giving the moon a chance to finally shine Medusa hissed quick haphazard instructions as the sisters spersed out to hunt. Hunting was harder for Medusa compared to her sisters because she had to hunt with her eyes closed to avoid turning their prey to stone but the people were loud and reeked of fear which diluted the intensity of the challenge. Hunting always made her feel powerful, as screams of terror purged through the beach and the rest of the island it would deafen the memory that would always tag along with the moon because as she attacked and defeated them she would pretend it was him she was defeating. Children and pregnant women were exempted from the purge but would live with the trauma of seeing their loved ones die. Medusa thought that would be better than death but like her trauma, it would eat them up till there was nothing left. The survivors would be escorted by Meritus, their servant, to assist the survivors back on to the ship and shipping them away. The sisters would then return to their cave with their stolen treasures. “I was thinking of making something like this,” Euryale said wrapping the cloth around her body from their recent treasures. “What do you think,” she asked as she turned away from the mirror to face her sisters, Medusa stood behind her eliminating the jewellery that didn't flatter her taste while Stheno studied the weapons they’d found. Medusa always felt like it was her fault because she let her guard down and Stheno always felt like it was her fault because she wasn't there to protect Medusa but it was none of their faults, if Medusa hadn't let her guard down it still would've happened and If Stheno had been there she would’ve hopelessly watched the scene and failed to protect her anyway. And Euryale lived with the guilt.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction
The Clock maker's Gift”. AI-Generated.
“The Clock maker's Gift” In the crooked heart of Old Brindle Town, nestled between ivy-covered bookshops and crooked chimneys, stood a tiny clock shop owned by an old man named Eliot Graves. He was a quiet man with cloud-white hair and a face like wrinkled leather, always dressed in a brown vest and red scarf, always polishing gears too small for ordinary eyes to see.
By Atifa Iqbalzadaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Room Was Locked from Inside… Yet She Was Gone
A Vanishing Act That Baffles All Logic It was supposed to be an ordinary night. Just another evening of laughter echoing through the halls of the cozy suburban home, a house where family challenges and daily vlogs captured a lifestyle many dreamed of. But when the morning came, something was terribly off. Her room, where she was last seen, was locked from the inside. No broken windows. No signs of struggle. No trace of a break-in. And yet, she was gone.
By olxia10 about a year ago in Fiction
Grandma’s Attic Had a Secret She Never Told Anyone
Grandma’s Attic Had a Secret She Never Told Anyone The house creaked with the kind of silence that only comes after someone is gone. Ellie stood at the bottom of the narrow staircase leading up to the attic—her grandmother’s attic. She’d been asked to clean it out, to sort through boxes and old furniture for donations. But as she stared at the cracked wooden steps, something in her chest told her this wouldn’t be a simple clean-up.
By Hamidabout a year ago in Fiction
King Bruce and the Spider
Many years ago, in the rugged hills and green valleys of Scotland, there lived a noble and brave king named Robert the Bruce. He loved his country more than anything and wanted to see it free from the rule of foreign enemies. King Bruce believed in independence and had a deep desire to protect the people of Scotland. But his journey was not easy.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Cornfield: The Girl Who Vanished Without a Trace . Content Warning.
The small town of Elmridge and its eerie calm Elmridge, nestled in the heart of the Midwest, is the kind of town that often slips past your notice. Picture dusty streets, neatly lined porches, and cornfields that stretch beyond the horizon like an ocean of green. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows each other, and secrets don’t stay buried for long—or so people thought. But one summer day shattered that illusion forever. It was in this sleepy community that Lily Carter vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but haunting whispers in the cornfield and a town forever altered.
By olxia10 about a year ago in Fiction
She Opened the Wrong Door and Discovered a Different World
She Opened the Wrong Door and Discovered a Different World It began with a simple mistake. Maya had never been the type to wander. She liked her routines. She liked knowing where she was going, and even more, she liked being right. But on that quiet October afternoon, while visiting her great-aunt’s towering estate for the first time, something pulled her down the wrong hallway.
By Hamidabout a year ago in Fiction
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden
Sylwen Thornshade - The Verdant Warden The wind carried whispers through the towering oaks of Forend’s Forest, weaving between emerald leaves and tangled vines. Here, amidst the deep roots and ancient thickets, Sylwen Thornshade walked in silent communion with the land. She was one of Silvanna’s chosen, a vessel, a voice, a guardian of Nature. Every breath Sylwen took was an oath to the goddess, a vow to maintain the balance between life and destruction.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Silverfire. AI-Generated.
The snow fell softly that night — not in flurries, but like a hush laid gently over the earth. A quiet so complete, I could hear the faintest creak of old branches, the brittle crunch of frost beneath my boots. I’d learned to listen to the absence of sound lately. Not just notice it — really listen to it. Silence, I’d found, isn’t empty. It speaks. You just have to get quiet enough to hear it.
By Jeremie Nelson about a year ago in Fiction
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche
Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche The moon hung low over the ruined chapel, its pale light casting long shadows through broken archways and shattered stained glass. The once-holy ground had become a desecrated battlefield, littered with the rattling remains of the restless dead. They clawed forward, skeletal hands grasping at the dwarf who stood in their path, his breath steaming in the cold night air.Thurgrim Ironhold tightened his grip around his weapon—a massive spiked maul, the head of which was adorned with jagged steel, each edge blessed by the unyielding will of Eniche. His armor, plated and brutal, bristled with spikes of its own, a reflection of the god he served. A deity of war, of discipline, of strength unbroken in the face of evil.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction