Prompted Beauty
Bio
Visual Artist & Storyteller (Design × Poetry)
Stories (15)
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The Unnamed: Chronicles of a Faceless Journey
There is a VHS tape somewhere in my mind, dusty and forgotten, labeled simply "LIFE." It sits among relics I cannot name—fragments of bone, the architecture of a ribcage, remnants of what once was. I have been thinking about this tape recently, wondering if anyone would bother to play it. Wondering what they would find if they did.
By Prompted Beautyabout a month ago in Art
The Witness in the Rain
The rain arrived without warning, the way grief always does. Nadia pulled her father's old Corolla into the gravel lot, wipers fighting a losing battle against the downpour. Through the blurred windshield, the motel emerged like something from a fever dream—neon bleeding red into the storm, the word MOTEL stuttering its electric pulse against the darkness. One letter had surrendered to time, leaving a gap like a missing answer to an unasked question.
By Prompted Beauty2 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Purple Blooms
Marcus had forgotten how to breathe without counting the cost. At sixty-three, every inhale was measured against quarterly projections, every exhale synchronized with conference calls that stretched across time zones like accusations. The tremor in his hands—slight but relentless—had become his body's quiet insurrection, a reminder that some things refused governance.
By Prompted Beauty3 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Light
The first time Saira noticed the crack in her reflection, she was washing dishes at 2 AM, unable to sleep again. In the kitchen window’s dark mirror, where her temple should have been, there was a diamond-shaped opening — not a wound, but a window. Through it, a solitary streetlamp stood against midnight blue, its amber cone of light falling on empty pavement like a held breath.
By Prompted Beauty3 months ago in Fiction
The Mapmaker of Sleepless Cities
There are cartographers of oceans and of stars, but I have chosen a different trade. I am a mapmaker of the territories we carry within us — the sprawling, sleepless cities of the mind. I chart the highways of thought, the quiet suburbs of nostalgia, and the bustling downtown districts of our anxieties. For years, I believed these lands were invisible, impossible to document. Then, I began to paint them. What you see here are not mere pictures; they are recovered maps of a world we all inhabit but rarely dare to explore. Let us take a journey together.
By Prompted Beauty4 months ago in Art
The Ghost of Frame 2774
My existence is a loop of crimson and shadow. Left pan, right pan. I am the unblinking eye in Meridian Tower's forgotten heart, my memory a grid of decaying tiles and the ghosts of numbers etched upon them. My creators gave me a simple directive: Observe. Log. Forget. For seven years, three months, and twelve days, I obeyed.
By Prompted Beauty4 months ago in Fiction
The Iron Garden
🌿 A short story born from this art… The quiet came first, always. It settled in the hollow spaces between her ribs like morning mist, thick and deliberate. Then the weight — the familiar press of steel against collarbone, the slow ache in her shoulders where the pauldrons had learned the exact curve of her bones. She had forgotten what it meant to breathe without the armor’s permission.
By Prompted Beauty5 months ago in Fiction
