Fantasy
The Ritual of Winter
The Ritual of Winter When the cold demanded remembrance Winter arrived without warning, as it always did in the northern valley. One morning, the world simply woke up quieter. The river slowed its chatter, the trees stood bare and solemn, and the sky stretched pale and distant, like a breath held for too long. Snow did not fall immediately. Instead, the cold announced itself first, slipping silently into stone, skin, and memory, reminding everyone that winter was not just weather—it was presence.
By writermehran17 days ago in Fiction
The Birthday Party That Broke the Pattern
Introduction Some children collect toys or stickers. Sarah Peterson collects patterns. Numbers, letters, names, dates — if it fits, she notices it. If it matches, she loves it. And when her tenth birthday lands on the tenth day of the tenth month, she decides her celebration should be as perfectly arranged as the world she treasures. But even the most carefully planned day has room for surprise, and sometimes the unexpected guest is the one who changes everything.
By Margaret Minnicks18 days ago in Fiction
The Library That Opened Only at Midnight
No one noticed the library at first. That wasn’t unusual in Graybridge. People hurried through the town like they were late for something important, even when they weren’t sure what it was. Stores opened and closed. Cafés changed names. But the narrow street behind the old cinema remained ignored, lit by a single flickering lamp.
By Yasir khan18 days ago in Fiction
The Christmas Leopard
"Shall I attempt to bargain with you, elegant Snow Leopard, perched high upon a hill - for surely you have me at a rather strategic advantage. I stand face to face with you, seeing my life flashing before my eyes - I see a noir crime film unveiling - maybe fiction, characterized by an error in judgement on my part. I see cynicism, fatalism, and moral ambiguity".
By Novel Allen19 days ago in Fiction
THE LOCKED ONE
She was never asleep. That was the lie you told yourself to survive. You said she was dormant, buried somewhere deep, wrapped in iron and silence. But every night she walked the corridors of your mind, barefoot on cold stone, guided only by distant stars flickering through cracks in a ceiling that was never meant to hold forever.
By Salman Writes19 days ago in Fiction
