Holiday
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 13). AI-Generated.
Even after leaving the cabin, Evelyn could still hear the voice. Soft. Feminine. Unmistakably intentional. It replayed in her mind over and over again as Rowan drove away from the Vermont woods, faster this time, the wheels cutting through slush and fresh snow like a warning siren. The tension inside the car was thick enough to crush the air itself.
By Ahmed aldeabella29 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 12). AI-Generated.
The drive toward the abandoned cabin felt like a descent into another world. The Vermont landscape grew wilder with every mile—dense evergreens weighed down with snow, frozen streams glinting under the afternoon light, and a silence that felt too deliberate to be natural.
By Ahmed aldeabella29 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 11) . AI-Generated.
The morning after the package arrived felt unreal—too quiet, too still, too watchful. Snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a white sheet across the Brooklyn streets, reflecting the pale sun like a cold mirror. Evelyn stood by the window of her apartment, staring down at the street with a numbness that felt heavier than fear itself.
By Ahmed aldeabella29 days ago in Fiction
Wild Love at Christmas Eve. Top Story - December 2025.
If we grow old together, help me to remember the catch in my voice when I faced this old world anew one Christmas Eve ... Aflock in the town's tavern, my head a mix of love and merry. Downing my glass of Moscato, my head spinning with claustrophobia, I ripped away from the endless whir of clutches and kisses. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, I found relief in the welcome outside air.
By Susan L. Marshall29 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - When the Sun Forgot Us for a Moment (PART II)
That morning, the Sun hesitated; it did not announce itself with disaster or spectacle. There were no sirens, no collapsing networks, no urgent alerts vibrating in pockets. Light simply arrived differently, spreading across the city with an unfamiliar patience, lingering on rooftops and sidewalks as if it were deciding whether the day truly needed to begin. People noticed the change not with panic but with intuition. Coffee cooled untouched. Footsteps slowed. Conversations stretched into pauses that felt intentional rather than awkward, as though time itself had loosened its grip just enough to let the world inhale.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
Auroras Beyond the Last Forest - Mysteries of the North Pole
The journey toward the North Pole did not begin with coordinates or maps, but with a forest older than memory itself. The Taiga Forest stretched endlessly beneath a sky that never fully darkened, its snow-laden trees standing like quiet witnesses to centuries of travelers who had come seeking answers rather than destinations. This was not a forest that resisted passage - it tested intention. Every step forward felt deliberate, as if the land itself required certainty before allowing anyone deeper. It was here that the travelers gathered - not heroes in the traditional sense, but beings shaped by curiosity, patience, and winter’s discipline. Among them walked humans wrapped in layered wool and belief, forest spirits whose footsteps left no imprint, and small luminous fair folk - fairies - whose wings refracted the pale light into soft prisms. Even the wind seemed aware of them, slowing its breath as they advanced northward.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - Snow Does Not Fall the Same Way Twice (Part III)
Snow looks identical until you stay long enough to watch it fall. From a distance, winter appears repetitive - the same cold, the same gray skies, the same quiet streets. But snow, like memory, reveals its truth only to those willing to slow down. Each flake carries a distinct geometry. Each winter arrives believing it is both the first and the last of its kind.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
Winter Series 2025 - The Longest Night We Shared (Part I)
Winter does not arrive loudly. It enters quietly, slipping between conversations, dimming the edges of the world, asking us to slow down even when we resist. The longest night of the year - Solstice - is not only an astronomical event - it is an emotional threshold. A moment when darkness lingers long enough to make us listen.
By José Juan Gutierrez 29 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 10)
The tenth night felt heavier than the nine before it—thicker, denser, as though the air itself sensed what Evelyn had uncovered at the library. Snow fell lazily outside her apartment window in Brooklyn, soft flakes drifting downward like a curtain that wanted to isolate her from the world. December was growing harsher, but what chilled her more was the knowledge she carried.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 9)
Evelyn stood completely still. Her name. On a list. A list of people who were supposed to disappear. Her breath came slow, uneven. Snow pressed against her cheeks like cold fingers, grounding her in a reality she wished wasn’t true.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 8)
Snow swirled around them like white ghosts drifting through the cold night. Evelyn pulled her coat tighter as Rowan lowered his hood completely. Now she could see his face clearly — not dangerous, not cold, just haunted.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
