Cliffhanger
The Mountain That Descended to Its Climbers
A mountain renowned for being impossible to climb surprised the world one dawn—it lowered itself subtly, like a bow, forming a path for weary travelers. Those who reached the top didn’t brag; they meditated. The mountain whispered, “Greatness isn’t always rising above others. Sometimes it is lowering oneself so others may rise too.”
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
Firebug: Chapter 10 - Confrontation
"Grounded" did not begin to describe the punishment Theo received for staying out all Friday night. Still, he supposed he should be grateful. Thaddeus could've spontaneously decided to move again in the dead of night. Besides, grounded or not, he could still see Roman during school hours. That, at least, made it all bearable.
By Natalie Grayabout a month ago in Chapters
The Moon’s Borrowed Feather
A feather made of pale light drifted down from the sky one evening. A girl picked it up, and instantly her surroundings glowed softly. She used the feather not for herself, but to comfort frightened animals, guide travelers in fog, and soothe those unable to sleep. When the moon returned for it, she placed the feather on a hill. The moon glowed brighter that night, as if grateful. Even without the feather, the girl found she still carried a gentle glow—her kindness had become its own light.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Star Weaver
A solitary woman sat each night with a glowing loom, weaving patterns from starlight. Her tapestries showed stories of strangers: a fisherman’s bravery, a teacher’s kindness, a child’s curiosity. One evening, a young girl noticed her own life woven into the fabric—a future filled with courage she didn’t yet possess. The weaver smiled and whispered, “The stars only show what you already carry.”
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Mirror Library
A strange library contained only blank books. When someone opened one, words appeared describing a forgotten memory, a dream, or a hidden fear. A nervous boy picked up a book and watched as it filled with stories he’d never dared to speak aloud. Instead of frightening him, it comforted him—someone understood. The librarian whispered, “The library doesn’t reveal secrets. It gives them room to breathe.” When the boy left, his book stayed behind, slowly turning blank again, ready for the next reader.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Thief and the Prince – Chapter 3: Peacock
Peacock Morning light broke gently across the forest as Kael and Arin followed a narrow path woven between towering ancient trees. Dew sparkled on the leaves like tiny crystals, and the air was cool enough to sting their lungs. It was the first time since their escape that Kael felt the world breathing again.
By Wings of Time about a month ago in Chapters
The River That Refused to Flow Backward
A village begged a magical river to reverse its flow so they could relive happier days. The river answered by rising gently and whispering, “Water moves forward so hearts can too.” The villagers learned to honor memory without drowning in it. They built bridges not to the past, but toward each other.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Orchestra of Invisible Instruments
In a hidden amphitheater, musicians played instruments that could not be seen. They relied solely on memory and emotion to produce sound. Their concerts moved audiences to tears—not because of perfection, but because listeners heard their own memories in each note. It was rumored the instruments became visible only when someone finally forgave themselves.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Cloud That Fell in Love With a Mountain
A drifting cloud adored a lonely mountain. She brought shade on hot days, rain during droughts, and soft mist during harsh winters. But she could never stay long. The mountain, unmoving, admired her passing beauty. One day, the cloud condensed into eternal snow upon its peak. The mountain wore her forever, a crown of white devotion.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Postman of Silent Letters
An old postman delivered letters containing the words people couldn’t bring themselves to speak—apologies, confessions, secret gratitude. The letters had no senders, yet they always reached the right door. When he died, villagers discovered his journal: every letter was written by him after listening to hearts too heavy to speak. His final entry read: “I carried what they could not, until they were ready to carry themselves.”
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
The Mountain That Took a Breath
Once in a century, a giant mountain inhaled deeply, causing the entire valley to rise slightly. Those present swore they felt the earth’s ribcage expand. A young geologist stayed at its base for years, hoping to witness another breath. When it finally came, the mountain exhaled warmth toward her. She realized the world was alive in ways humans had forgotten to feel.
By GoldenSpeechabout a month ago in Chapters
