As the young fairy recited the final words of the incantation bright pulsing light erupted from her wand. The magic spell she had been practicing for months finally worked. A golden thread appeared before her, weaving into a shimmering tapestry depicting her deepest desires. She reached out to touch it with a shaking hand but as her fingers passed through the light, the tapestry vanished, and she was left with only a sense of longing. In that moment she realized that the true magic wasn't in the spell itself but in the journey of discovering what truly mattered to her.
About the Creator
Heather Patton
I can usually be found reading a book, anything from SciFi / Fantasy Adventures to Paranormal Romance. I love writing, DMing a small tabletop D&D gaming group, and playing video games with my husband and two sons.
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If Walls Could Talk
If walls could talk at the Old Lake Mont Resort, they would tell a story of the day Maggie Tate came to live. That is the day a thin break of light in the darkness began to grow as a force was exerted upon the wall outside the dark room. Dust particles danced in and out of the beam as the air was stirred up. Harsh scraping of wood across the floor broke seven years of silence. With a final push of force and a grunt of exertion the bright sunlight came flooding into the building, the darkness retreating into the corners. Layers of dust and cobweb covered mounds began to take the shape of large plastic drop clothes draped over tables and chairs.
By Heather Patton3 years ago in Fiction
Letters to ada
Letter I – From Layth to Ada Void, beyond the 22nd century My Dearest Ada, Your eyes... velvet that dissolves the last remnants of my coldness. I was an extinguished ember, until your radiance moistened me like a river-child bending over an ancient thirst in my chest. You blinked—and all of Time leaned toward my mouth. A redness upon your lips touched my fissures, and I softened... I, whom stones never softened. Your iris was my window and my mirror: a core that illuminates and desiccates what remained of my cold soul. I whisper to you a gesture of containment, and I dissolve in Time, even though I was frozen beneath the anesthesia of heavy smoke from a cigarette that keeps the night awake in my blood. I hid a poet in an old box—I feared that if he saw you, the world around me would be disturbed... but your wide lashes excavated the box and awakened what had died before you. You approached... and in the silence of night you were like a thread of light passing over my heart. I saw sorrow wrapped around your white shawl, its yellowness faded as if traces of a day that continued to extinguish. I said to you in a whisper, my voice sagging between fear and wonder: Will you entwine your hand in mine, and shall we slip together to the bottom of Time... without fear? You smiled, and the universe slackened around me, as if the warmth of your fingers was all that remained of the world. And you were asking in silence: “Where is your place within my embrace?” And I, in whose throat the sword of silence had been planted, found myself choosing you before I could speak. Black were your eyes, yet they kindled a daylight within me. And for the first time... O you of the two eyes, I felt that I was luminous.
By LUCCIAN LAYTH2 days ago in Fiction
Bruce Lee and The God of War: Kuan Ti
It starts with love.. The Power to the God Of War and Wealth Walk into a Chinese restaurant (even in Oklahoma, USA), a Chinese police station, a kung fu martial arts studio or even a Chinese temple and you often see a red faced warrior holding a heavy quan-do (spear like weapon).
By WILD WAYNE : The Dragon King5 days ago in Chapters
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