Classical
Test Chapter
Merlina Azazel = Eris Charon Styxe = Charon Vincent Grimm = Stolas It was a night like any other as Vincent Grimm locked up shop and prepared himself for another lonely night. The city was large and his business did well, but he found himself alone every night. It was strange that he was so financially successful and yet could not find a suitable partner. At least that's the way it was in his mind. He ran a successful book store and would often spend his lonely nights reading or learning how to practice cartomancy in his one bedroom apartment. It had been so long since anyone had come over that the dishes seemed to just pile up. He'd get to them on Sundays when the shop was closed. He opened his laptop and noticed a forum. Rakuhana it was called. It was for a game called Endless Online. He pondered if he should make an account for said game. He setup the gaming account for it and named his character Stolas. As soon as he logged in he went onto something called global chat to see what everyone else was saying about the game. Right when he clicked onto it he found himself looking at a female character commenting named Eris.
By Eris Willowabout a month ago in Fiction
THE FLOWERING OF THE STRANGE ORCHID
The buying of orchids always has in it a certain speculative flavour. You have before you the brown shrivelled lump of tissue, and for the rest you must trust your judgment, or the auctioneer, or your good luck, as your taste may incline. The plant
By Faisal Khanabout a month 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 khanabout a month ago in Fiction
The Island That Refused to Stay
Lately, she has been trying to look at her life the way a stranger might. Not kindly, not cruelly. Just honestly. As if objectivity could soften the sharp edges of memory. As if stepping outside herself might make the weight easier to carry.
By Salman Writes2 months ago in Fiction
How We Stay Lit
Winter arrives without apology. It closes its hands around the hours, tightens the air until even silence shivers. The world grows careful. Footsteps soften. Voices lower. Everything essential learns how to last. In this season, warmth is no longer loud. It does not roar or demand attention. It survives in fragments— a candle steady on the sill, its flame no bigger than a thought, yet brave enough to stand against the dark. That small light gathers the room gently, pulling shadows closer, teaching them how to rest. It does not banish the cold. It negotiates with it. Small heat lives in the pause between breaths fogging the window, in the way hands linger around a cup long after the tea has cooled. It hums quietly in wool scarves, in coats that still remember yesterday’s body. There is warmth in presence, too— a shoulder leaned into at a bus stop, a shared silence that does not need words. Two breaths syncing, creating a fragile pocket of mercy inside the frost. Winter compresses the world, but small heat resists by expanding inward. It teaches patience. It teaches listening. It teaches that survival is not always grand— sometimes it is careful and deliberate, a decision made again and again to stay lit. A lamp left on in an empty room becomes a promise. A quiet reminder that someone will return, that absence is temporary, that darkness does not own the final word. How we stay lit is not by overpowering the cold, but by softening its edges. By holding space for gentleness when the season insists on hardness. And when spring finally loosens winter’s grip, it will not remember the storms first. It will remember the lights that stayed on. The hands that held. The flames that refused to go out.
By Awa Nyassi2 months ago in Fiction
