Young Adult
Under Three Moons - Chapter 1 - The Accursed Halflings
Chapter 1 - The Accursed Halflings Tomerys sulked as she ate her porridge. She hated the mornings, how the sun made her skin itch. She hated having to drink a nasty potion just to go outside. She hated having to go to nocturnal classes because she had fangs and therefore, could not be admitted to the morning school. It didn’t matter if she was also fae - they feared her curse as much as her fangs.
By CT Idlehouseabout a year ago in Fiction
Under Three Moons - Prologue
Prologue - Moonsflower It began in the moonsglow beneath a Lacrimosal Tree, its branches gleaming with luna sap. Nestled in the cluster of dark crimson roots was a single moonsflower in rare form, for its petals only bloomed during Convergence, in which The Three Sister Moons danced in the cosmos, their magick radiating through the ivory thistle and copperlilies of Sioga Valley.
By CT Idlehouseabout a year ago in Fiction
The Assessment. Content Warning.
The day that Twyla turned twenty-six, she had a silent reckoning with herself. She had purposely spent the day alone, as she assessed her life from its beginning onward. She scanned the years with brutal honesty, making mental piles of what had been her fate (none of which she could be faulted for,) her choices (both good or bad,) her triumphs (mostly lucky breaks,) her downfalls...too many to count. At this point, she determined, it was damn near impossible to look at her reflection from any mirror that dared to cross her path without feeling slightly disgusted.
By Shirley Belkabout a year ago in Fiction
Stockroom Secrets 16. Content Warning.
After leaving work I didn't go straight home, as I was too wound up over what had happened that afternoon. I also believed that my mother would quite likely explode when she saw my scratched face and torn shirt and found out what had happened, so I figured I needed to think about things for a little while first.
By Mark 'Ponyboy' Petersabout a year ago in Fiction
Crimson Vows
Elara had always been drawn to the abandoned cathedral at the edge of town. Its stained-glass windows were cracked, its spires crooked against the sky like broken fingers. The townspeople said it was cursed, but to Elara, it felt alive—breathing, watching, waiting. That night, the full moon bathed the ruins in silver. She walked barefoot across the cracked marble floor, her dress whispering against the stone. She wasn’t alone. He was there. Lucien. The man who had haunted her dreams for years. His presence was impossible to ignore—tall, lean, with eyes the color of storm clouds and lips curved in the faintest smile. His coat was dark as midnight, but his skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight. “You came,” he murmured, his voice velvet and shadow all at once. “You called,” she whispered back. She didn’t ask how. She had always felt him—behind her when she stared into mirrors, in the brush of cold wind against her cheek, in the hollow of her chest when she woke at midnight. He was everywhere, and nowhere. Now he was here. Lucien stepped closer, his boots echoing in the hollow nave. “You shouldn’t have answered. Once you step into this place, you are mine.” The words should have chilled her. Instead, her pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat. “And if I don’t want to leave?” His smile deepened, but there was sorrow in it. “Then you will be bound to me in ways you cannot imagine. Love is not gentle here, Elara. It is blood and fire. It consumes.” Her fingers trembled, but she reached for him anyway. When her skin brushed his, a shiver surged through her body. His hand was cold, but the jolt that shot through her veins was heat—raw, burning, terrifying. Lucien closed his eyes, as though savoring her touch. “You don’t know what I am.” “Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice breaking but fierce. He opened his eyes. For a moment, they glowed faintly—not human. His voice dropped to a whisper, lower than the wind: “I am cursed. Bound to this place for centuries. Every soul who loves me is devoured by it. Their lives become part of the cathedral’s walls, their whispers trapped in the stone. To love me is to die in pieces.” Elara’s breath caught. She should have recoiled, should have run. But the shadows in his words only pulled her closer. “And yet… I can’t stop. I’ve been waiting for you. Even if it kills me.” Lucien’s expression wavered—pain, hunger, longing. He touched her face, his thumb grazing her lip. “You’re more dangerous than I am,” he said softly. The silence between them was electric. The broken cathedral seemed to pulse around them, shadows gathering like an audience. Lucien lowered his head, his lips barely brushing hers. The kiss was gentle at first, but beneath it, there was a storm—an ache so deep it could tear the world apart. She tasted eternity in that kiss, bitter and sweet, like wine and blood. When they pulled apart, the air was thick with whispers. The stained-glass windows flickered with light though no sun touched them. The cathedral itself seemed to awaken. “You’ve sealed it,” he said hoarsely, his forehead pressed against hers. “The vow is made. The cathedral has claimed you.” Elara’s chest tightened, not with fear, but with a strange, fierce joy. “Then I’ll stay. If this place wants me, it can have me. As long as it keeps you with me.” Lucien’s hands shook as he gripped her shoulders. His eyes were wild with something between love and despair. “You don’t understand—there is no end to this. You will wither, and your soul will root itself into these walls. You’ll never leave, Elara. Never.” She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Then let it be forever.” The cathedral roared. The broken glass blazed with crimson fire, shadows spiraled, and the marble cracked beneath their feet. The air itself tightened, like chains wrapping around their bodies. Lucien tried to pull away, but Elara held him. Their lips met again, harder this time, desperate, sealing the vow that neither could undo. As the fire dimmed and the cathedral stilled, her body trembled. She felt her strength draining, her pulse slowing. The walls hummed with a new voice—hers—blended with the chorus of souls that had loved him before. Lucien clutched her close, anguish in his eyes, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to love, fully, recklessly, knowing the price. And in her fading breath, Elara whispered the last words he would ever hear from her living lips: > “Better to die with you… than to live without.” Her eyes fluttered shut. The cathedral shuddered, then fell silent again, a tomb for lovers who should never have touched. Lucien pressed his lips to her hair, his voice breaking as he whispered back: > “Then we are bound, my crimson bride.” And as the moon slid behind the clouds, the cathedral whispered too—her voice joining the eternal chorus, haunting, beautiful, and in love forever.
By INFO INSIDER about a year ago in Fiction
Rooted in Nature. Dried to Perfection
The first time Leena heard about Dryfroot, she thought it was just another grocery shop. Her grandmother, however, spoke of it in whispers, as if it were a place of secrets. “It isn’t just food they sell,” Nani would say, eyes twinkling, “it’s memory, strength, and sometimes even a little magic.”
By Princess Ladlyabout a year ago in Fiction
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity
The Power of AI: How Artificial Intelligence is Shaping the Future of Humanity --- A New Era of Intelligence Artificial Intelligence (AI) is no longer the stuff of science fiction—it’s here, woven into the fabric of our daily lives. At its core, AI is the simulation of human intelligence by machines. It can learn, adapt, and even make decisions, sometimes faster and more accurately than people. What was once imagined in futuristic novels is now a reality: machines that recognize faces, translate languages, diagnose diseases, and even create art. The rise of AI represents a turning point in human history, comparable to the invention of electricity or the internet.
By Muhammad Ibrahimabout a year ago in Fiction
The Broken Maiden Is Moving Up
Some say it was only just a footnote, on how to win, but following a maiden claiming, the monarch bridle came off, leaving a wild west cowboy situation where anything could be said without structured civil behavior, but Princess Irene within a second stepped in, defending her turf, showing dignity and strength.
By Marc OBrienabout a year ago in Fiction
