Biography
The Poet of Falling Leaves
He wrote poems on leaves and tossed them into the wind. People called him foolish—his words would decompose before anyone read them. Yet the poet insisted that beauty doesn’t need permanence. One autumn, a lonely widow found one of his leaves drifting onto her doorstep. Its words—simple, gentle—made her smile for the first time in months. A young traveler found another deep in a forest and decided to return home after years of wandering. Over time, countless people discovered his leaves, each carrying a message perfectly timed for the finder. By the time the poet died, no written book remained—only stories of leaves that healed strangers. And perhaps that was the truest form of poetry: words that matter exactly once, to exactly one person.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Forest Where Time Walked Backward
Those who entered the forest noticed leaves falling upward and streams running in reverse. Time itself walked backward there. An old woman entered searching for her youth, hoping to undo decades of regret. With each step, wrinkles smoothed, memories sharpened, joints strengthened. But she also felt her wisdom slipping, her identity unraveling. She reached the forest’s heart as a young girl, free of age but empty of meaning. When she tried to leave, the path forward refused her. Only by retracing her steps exactly—embracing each year, each mistake, each scar—could she regain her true self. When she finally exited, she was old again, but now she carried her years proudly, understanding that time lived backward is time wasted.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Man Who Lived in His Shadow
For years, the man avoided sunlight. His shadow had grown larger than his body, towering over him like a companion with unspoken accusations. Whenever he stepped into brightness, the shadow stretched monstrously, reminding him of things he never wanted to face. So he hid in dim alleys and candlelit rooms, trying to shrink the silhouette. But shadows do not fade through avoidance—they grow. One evening, desperate and trembling, he stepped into the blinding light of the setting sun. His shadow expanded across the entire field. Instead of running, he walked toward it. As he moved, the shadow shrank, folding itself gently until it matched his body again. He realized the monster had never been the shadow—it had been his fear. From that day forward, he walked in sunlight without trembling, accepting that the dark parts of us only terrify when left unseen.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Traveler Who Carried Seasons
Okir roamed the world with a cloak woven from the four seasons. Wherever he walked, nature shifted in response. If he wrapped himself in the cloak’s winter patch, frost coated the ground. If he turned it to spring, blossoms erupted along his path. Villagers marveled, urging him to stay and bring endless spring or perpetual summer. But Okir refused, explaining that seasons must cycle or the world forgets how to grow. One day, a greedy king imprisoned him, demanding eternal autumn—the king’s favorite season. The land wilted, trapped in a golden dusk. Trees grew weary, animals confused, crops failing. Okir finally broke free, releasing the cloak into the sky. It shredded into the wind, scattering pieces across the world. Seasons returned naturally, no longer dependent on one man. As for Okir, he walked on, feeling lighter without the burden of guiding time.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Garden That Bloomed Only in Dreams
Every night, the dream garden opened its gates to Serin. Flowers glowed like constellations, trees hummed lullabies, and the air shimmered with impossible colors. She tended the garden with care—watering moonflowers with starlight, trimming vines that whispered secrets. One night, she noticed a withered patch of soil. When she touched it, she woke with a start, realizing the barren area mirrored her waking sadness. The next night she returned with determination. Instead of starlight, she watered the soil with her tears, whispering truth instead of hope. Slowly, a single bud emerged—a sign that even sorrow could bloom if tended gently. Over weeks, the garden thrived again, healing as Serin healed. When she awoke one dawn, she found a real flower on her bedside table, proof that the worlds we nurture within ourselves eventually shape the world we live in.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Mask Maker of Forgotten Emotions
In a silent workshop lit by candlelight, a mask maker shaped faces from porcelain—joyful, sorrowful, furious, calm. People visited her not to hide their emotions but to reveal the ones they had lost. A stoic man who had not cried in decades wore a mask of grief and finally wept. A woman hardened by misfortune wore a mask of laughter and rediscovered her smile. But the most unusual visitor was a young boy who asked for a mask with no expression at all. The mask maker hesitated but crafted it nonetheless. When the boy put it on, he saw in the mirror a face that fit him perfectly—because he had never been allowed to express anything. She created for him a new mask each week, each revealing a different feeling. Over time, the boy’s true face learned to shift on its own, no mask required.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Girl Who Read People’s Footsteps
Eliastra lived in a dusty town where footprints remained etched in the ground longer than they should have. She discovered that by touching them, she could see glimpses of the walker’s emotions—joy, fear, regret, longing. The townspeople didn’t understand her gift and avoided leaving prints near her home. One day, a stranger arrived with footsteps so heavy they cracked the earth. When Eliastra touched them, she saw an ocean of grief threatening to drown him. Instead of recoiling, she followed the footprints until she found the man sitting by a dry well. She didn’t ask questions; she simply sat beside him. Hours later, he began to speak, releasing sorrows carried for years. When he left, his footprints were lighter, almost floating. Eliastra realized her gift wasn’t to expose people—but to carry pieces of their burdens so they could walk forward unbroken.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Bird Who Refused to Fly South
Every autumn, the flock prepared to journey south, wings flashing in unison. But one small bird, Aylo, remained perched on the oldest branch of the oldest tree. He refused to migrate, earning whispers of foolishness and doom. Winter arrived with harsh winds, yet Aylo stayed, trembling but steadfast. One morning, a wandering sage found him shivering and asked why he resisted the sky. Aylo answered, “Everyone flies to escape cold. I want to understand it.” The sage nodded, recognizing a rare kind of courage. They spent the winter together—Aylo learning frost’s quiet lessons, the sage learning endurance from a creature so fragile yet so determined. When spring arrived, Aylo’s wings were stronger than ever. He joined the returning flock, not as a follower but as a guide. They flew in unfamiliar patterns, trusting the bird who had faced winter and learned its wisdom.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Painter Who Stole Colors From Time
Eron painted landscapes no one recognized—skies the color of forgotten summers, oceans tinged with the sapphire of childhood memories. When people asked where his palette came from, he merely smiled and pointed to a cracked hourglass on his table. In truth, Eron could reach inside moments and pull their colors forward. The blush of a first love, the gold of a final sunset shared with a dying friend, the gray-blue of homesickness—he trapped them in his paint. Yet with every masterpiece, the memory he borrowed from faded in his mind. His greatest painting, one that shimmered like eternity captured in motion, was also the one he looked at without knowing why it mattered. One day, a woman entered his studio and wept upon seeing it. “This is the day we met,” she whispered. Eron felt nothing but wished he did. When she left, he dipped his brush into the hourglass again, deciding he would paint until every color was gone. Better to lose his memories beautifully than to keep them untouched and unlived.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
The Night the Stars Wandered Away
The villagers woke to a sky emptied of stars. Not one spark remained above them, as if the heavens had exhaled and gone dark. At first, people panicked, fearing it was an omen of endings, but a small girl named Lira refused to accept despair. She searched fields, rooftops, and riverbanks, calling softly for the lost constellations. On the third night, she heard faint chiming—like tiny bells drifting across the grass. Following the sound, she discovered stars hiding in puddles, resting quietly on the earth. They had not vanished, only descended. Lira asked them why they left the sky, and they answered that sometimes even light grows tired of being far away. She gathered them with cupped hands, lifting each spark back into the air. The stars rose, spiraling upward until they settled once more into familiar constellations. From then on, whenever the night felt heavy, Lira searched puddles and shadows, knowing that sometimes the brightest things come close to remind us we are not alone.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
