Saga
The Cloud That Refused to Rain
A single dark cloud hovered over a drought-stricken village, trembling but refusing to break. People cursed it until they learned the truth: if it rained then, the cracked earth would shatter. So they softened the soil, and only then did the cloud let go. Sometimes restraint is the purest form of care.
By GoldenSpeech2 months ago in Chapters
Football Friday Night. Content Warning.
It was one of those magical southern nights in October, and all of the teenagers in town were drunk on autumn and youth. There would be a party after the football game, and youthful concupiscence would be satisfied before the moon set in the morning sky. In anticipation of this, the boys were dousing themselves in Polo and Drakkar Noir while the girls teased their bangs into ski slopes and lacquered them above their heavily mascaraed eyes lined with kohl and painted hot pink stripes on their cheekbones. Def Leppard and Whitesnake blasted from boomboxes perched on dressers and lingerie chests. Pliers were used to zip jeans, and Marlboro Lights were smuggled out of sock drawers and into handbags while condoms pressed their circular imprint into dollar bills in wallets in back pockets.
By Harper Lewis2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The very air of Tartarus clung to them, a suffocating shroud that choked the breath from their lungs. Each inhale was a desperate struggle, a testament to the crushing weight of this forsaken realm. Ahead, the Styx oozed, its black, viscous current sluggish and foreboding, catching the faint, ghostly shimmers of a light that promised no warmth. And there, a figure etched from the very shadows, stood Hades, his obsidian robes a seamless extension of the Stygian gloom. Beside him, a sentinel of darkness, a hooded shape remained unnervingly still.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The suffocating silence of the night pressed in as Sparta, the philosopher-king of Corgis, and his shadow, Jackson, the unwavering sentinel of a blue heeler, materialized from the swirling vortex of temporal displacement. Their ceaseless pilgrimage through the shattered tapestry of epochs, stitching reality with their very beings, had etched a weary rhythm into their souls. Yet, this return, this return to the sanctuary of their shared existence, clawed at Sparta's very core with a primal dread. The moment their paws touched the familiar threshold of the small, unassuming dwelling they shared with Pandora, their anchor in the tempest of time, a suffocating unease seized him, a visceral premonition that chilled him to the bone.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
Within the suffocating embrace of the mist-choked Carpathians, shadows bled across the brutalized earth, each elongated stripe a phantom limb of forgotten ages, their whispers a litany of the lost. Sparta, Jackson, and Pandora stood before a monolithic beast of a castle. Its obsidian spires, like sharpened bone, ripped into the bruised and unforgiving sky, the very wind a dirge, a mournful keening for tales that had withered into dust. Pandora, a soul adrift on the storm of her grief for Perseus, felt an unholy magnetism pulling her, a siren's call from this accursed edifice.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The air itself crackled, not with the bite of wind, but with the raw, untamed essence of the divine. Perseus, a tempest in his own right, dragged Pandora upward, his grip a fierce promise against the treacherous, obsidian shards of the path. Each labored breath clawed at their lungs, yet the very thinness of the atmosphere vibrated with an intoxicating, alien power. Then, it loomed – Olympus. Not merely a mountain, but a celestial forge, where gold dripped like molten sun and clouds, woven from pure, luminous ivory, swirled in an eternal, blinding ballet.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The sun, a malevolent eye in a bleached sky, scorched the jagged maw of the cliffs that clawed at Mount Olympus. The air, heavy and suffocating, pulsed with the sharp tang of wild thyme, a deceptive sweetness masking a primal stench of pure danger. Sparta, a colossus of scarred muscle and unwavering resolve, Jackson, a whirlwind of coiled power and restless anticipation, and Pandora, her very essence a beacon of fierce, unyielding loyalty, stood at the mountain’s unforgiving base. Their gaze, a desperate plea, was locked on its impossibly vast, shadow-draped heights. Beside them, Perseus, their beloved comrade, lay a broken thing, his skin stretched taut over bone, a pallor of death clinging to him. Each breath, a ragged, agonizing gasp, threatened to be his last.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
Sparta, Jackson, and Pandora stood on the precipice of a forgotten wound, the skeletal remains of the Roanoke colony gnawing at the silence beneath a spectral moon. Pandora clutched a brittle journal, its pages whispering secrets that tore at her voice, a tempest of raw discovery and primal dread churning within her.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The 1940s, a gilded cage of Hollywood where dreams clawed their way into the blinding spotlight, but beneath the veneer, rot festered. Here, amidst the intoxicating perfume of jasmine and the acrid tang of desperation, Sparta and Jackson found themselves ensnared in a knot of intrigue, tighter and more venomous than any screen siren’s poisoned kiss. The city pulsed with the roar of engines and the sibilant hiss of secrets, its opulent avenues a siren song luring the unwary into the encroaching, suffocating shadows where truth was a ghost no one dared to face.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
The 1930s Egyptian desert, a brutal, unforgiving expanse, seared under a sun that bled an incandescent, almost otherworldly light across the tortured contours of endless golden dunes. Beneath the sibilant shriek of the shifting sands, a primal symphony of unseen forces, Sparta, Jackson, and Pandora plunged into the maw of yet another audacious quest. The air thrummed with a palpable tension, the stakes not merely high, but inextricably bound to the spectral whispers of history’s most intoxicating siren: Cleopatra.
By Carolyn Patton2 months ago in Chapters
