Psychological

The Shadow in the Pagoda
The year was 1436, in the young reign of the Ming Emperor Zhengtong, with the Forbidden City still shiny with new gold and the empire as long as the mind could see. But long beyond palace walls, deeper in the misted mountains about Hangzhou, there existed a pagoda that had no mark on the imperial records — the Pagoda of the Shadow Bell.
By Nusukiabout a year ago in Fiction
The Two Crows. AI-Generated.
On the edge of a wind-battered cliff, a young crow stood trembling, her feathers ruffled by the ocean breeze. Below her, the waves struck the rocks like a heartbeat. Above her, the sky stretched unbroken — pale blue, endless.
By Jessica Higginbothamabout a year ago in Fiction
WHAT EMMA SAW
Those blasted kids from around the block had vandalised the shop window. Emma arrived, as she did every day, to open up. Sunday morning, the morning after a wild Saturday night by the looks of the cans of beer littered at the entrance. She’d have to clean it all up, not now though, Emma needed to wipe bloody, red, spray paint from the windows, before her manager saw anything.
By Elizabeth Butlerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Human
The coffee maker still worked. That was something. Lorna stood in the kitchen of a house that wasn't hers—hadn't been anyone's for three years now—and watched the dark liquid drip into a chipped mug. Outside, vines crawled up the sides of skyscrapers. A deer grazed in what used to be Times Square. The planet was healing, they would have said, back when there was a "they."
By Parsley Rose about a year ago in Fiction
Liana and Grace
Liana and Grace were as different as dusk and dawn. If one favored deep blue, the other lived in soft gold. Both were resolute women—warm, strong, and unyielding. Liana occupied the upper floor of a quiet brownstone on Willow Street, in the small neighborhood of Oakridge, Chicago. Grace lived on the level below—between the ground and the middle of the house.
By Atiqbuddyabout a year ago in Fiction
Fate. Top Story - October 2025.
Despite seeing nearly five hundred years on its dusty dais, the meticulously crafted copy of Allgerion’s Catechism—the prophecy within foretelling that the first and only child of the seventh son of Avangarde and the third daughter of Mah’reel would usher forth the salvation of their world—was in a remarkable state of preservation.
By Matthew J. Frommabout a year ago in Fiction
The Voynich Manuscript. AI-Generated.
Ahmed had thought he had seen strange things in his life—hidden libraries beneath deserts, tombs with traps that seemed designed to test courage—but nothing compared to the first time he laid eyes on the Voynich Manuscript.
By Nusukiabout a year ago in Fiction
The unexpected.
The unexpected. Ending of a peaceful evening It had been a pleasantly spent evening, alone at last, no demands for attention, no call to be a servant dispensing an endless supply of cocktails. The two dogs lay in front of the fire, peacefulness dominated every aspect of my spirit and body, even my usually overactive mind was still. The dogs were, as usual, the first indication of disturbance to our tranquillity, they both pricked up ears and eased themselves onto all 4 paws. Neither barked but both were looking towards the door to our garden. I thought it may be an over inquisitive fox getting too close to the glass, but then the silence seemed to thicken. There was no noise, in fact it was a sort of super silence, as if any noise would be swallowed up and killed. A strange atmosphere invaded our evening, and my world was never to be the same ever again.
By Peter Roseabout a year ago in Fiction
Sunset Grace: A Parisian Balcony Encounter
It was the soft, golden hour in Paris, that fleeting, sacred interlude the French call l'heure dorée. The day, with its clamor and commerce, was exhaling a final, contented sigh, and the city, in turn, breathed back a soft, ethereal light. The wind, a gentle accomplice in this twilight conspiracy, drifted from the Seine, carrying with it the faint, complex perfume of river water, rain-washed stone, and the distant promise of evening blossoms. It brushed against my face, a cool, silken touch, as I leaned back on the modest wrought-iron terrace of my rented apartment in the 7th arrondissement.
By Stefano D'angelloabout a year ago in Fiction
Timeless Pain. Content Warning.
Yesterday, I finally gave in and took your telephone number. We talked for a very long time, and I agreed to have dinner with you that same week. "And you were my first love." You arrived early, while I was late, and my makeup was a mess. The dinner was burnt, and when you came in, I was crying. You kissed my forehead and asked me, "Do you want to dine in or out?" "And he was my first love."
By KC Taylorabout a year ago in Fiction
Etha and May . AI-Generated.
Etha and May are as different as night and day. To speak technically, we can say that one of them wore red and the other soft yellow colors. Both are obstinate, stubborn, motherly Black women. Etha is in control of the upstairs of the charming three story house in the Brookdale section of East 55th street of Brooklyn, NY. May rented the flat halfway between the ground and the middle of the house.
By Dipnarayan bhagat about a year ago in Fiction
The Passport of Torenza — Part II
Jonathan Reed had worked at London Heathrow for fourteen years. He’d seen frightened tourists, forged documents, and even a smuggler who tried to hide a parrot in his coat sleeve. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the man from Gate 13.
By Wellova about a year ago in Fiction