Fable

Secret Admirer . Top Story - January 2026.
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The blush turns orange and pink. It seeps into my very soul, where I feel I am sinking. Sinking and falling.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 days ago in Fiction
Persephone’s best friend
Ever since I left you from the mortal realm, my love, my heart has been on fire. The sky upon the Underworld has since been charred to death—-it is broken and black.
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 days ago in Fiction
Walking The Boardwalk Plank- An American Romantic-Gothic Fable
Waves crashed using clawing and scratching methods, firmly planting salty remains upon the beachy landmass. Boardwalk sitting, hot dog personality DJT stared into the post Labor Day air, waiting for the conjuring seasonal cold spell, change baseball wagering scripts, creating profitable spread football plotlines, “such a beautiful sight,” the city slicker entrepreneur stated, admiring the natural phenomenon.
By Marc OBrien4 days ago in Fiction
Eyes
I was seven years old the first time I got married. I remember the weight of the dress before I remember my own name. It was heavy and white and warm, like it had been waiting for me longer than I had been alive. The fabric pressed against my shoulders with a seriousness I did not yet understand. The room was filled with the aroma of flowers I couldn’t name, their scent thick and unfamiliar; and the walls seemed older than the building that held them as if the space itself had been borrowed for the occasion. There were people there. I remember that much. Their voices softened as I entered, the way voices do when something inevitable is about to happen. No one smiled too widely. No one whispered. They all seemed like a blurry memory; a background character of my story. I am even unsure of the season but I do know I wanted to hold onto the feeling and the intensity of the dream; and take it with me but I couldn’t remember everything once I woke up.
By Cadma4 days ago in Fiction
Adam's Apple: Origin Story
Sleeping under the Forbidden Tree, Adam woke up from the hissing sounds. He half-opened his eyes and saw the Serpent trying to strike a conversation with Eve sitting not too far from Adam under the Tree.
By Lana V Lynx4 days ago in Fiction
Sisyphus’ Punishment
I’ve been doing this for three thousand years. At least that's what I estimate, more or less. Can’t tell more precisely because I lost count of days and nights. With this job, you would too, anyone would. Yes, I have to roll this huge rock up not only during the day but at night, too. Up and down, up and down. I roll it up, almost all the way to the top, it rolls down under its weight and I have to start over.
By Lana V Lynx6 days ago in Fiction
Doomsday Clock: Why the World Is Closer Than Ever to Global Catastrophe
Doomsday Clock: Why the World Is Closer Than Ever to Global Catastrophe The **Doomsday Clock** is a powerful symbolic representation of how close humanity is to a self-inflicted global disaster. Created to communicate complex scientific and geopolitical risks in a simple visual form, the clock has become a widely recognized indicator of global instability. Midnight on the clock represents total catastrophe, while the movement of its hands reflects expert assessments of existential threats facing the world.
By America today 6 days ago in Fiction
Once Open a Time
Once open a time, not once upon a time, but open— like a window that forgot how to close, like a book that learned to inhale,
By Farhad6 days ago in Fiction
Kings
He stood Majestic, strong, magnificent of stature and regal in grace. King Mazzula's keen eyes survey the grassy knoll overlooking the serene valley of his kingdom. The scene is bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the landscape. The king's eyes sparkle with intelligence and wisdom, reflecting the beauty and tranquility of the surroundings. In one's vivid and poetic imagination, this is a painter's canvas, a painting with meticulous attention to detail and a touch of whimsy. Soft, diffused lighting enhances the magical atmosphere, creating a sense of wonder and tranquility.
By Antoni De'Leon6 days ago in Fiction
Stories Before a Wedding, or The Fairytale of Beauty and the Beast
Once, a long time ago, it was custom that on the night before wedding all the married women of equal Rank and status would gather around the bride in her chamber. While helping put the finishing touches on the bride's dress and trousseau, the women would take turns telling Tales of their great Romance and own marriages. This served two purposes: these stories taught the bride what she could expect from her own marriage and wedding night, and it also served as a history of these women and their stories. The most romantic Tale and the woman who told it would earn the right to give the new bride away into her married life. Now, in most cases, naturally the bride's mother or grandmother or some favorite cousin would quite easily be announced the winner and told how their story was such an inspiration to the new bride. In this way, weddings passed from mother to daughter, matriarch to descendant, and the women’s stories remained alive and aided a new bride in preparing for what was to come.
By Dionearia Red6 days ago in Fiction
The Whispering Grove
In the quiet village of Ashwood, nestled between rolling hills and endless skies, there lay a grove that had always inspired equal parts wonder and fear. Known as the Whispering Grove, it was small, yet ancient—gnarled roots snaking across the earth like the fingers of some slumbering giant. For generations, villagers had spoken of it only in hushed tones, warning children and travelers alike: linger too long, and the trees may speak your name… or reveal truths you were not ready to hear.
By Omid khan7 days ago in Fiction
THE GIRL WHO WHISPERED TO THE STARS
In a village cradled between rolling emerald hills and skies that stretched endlessly, there lived a girl named Liora. From the moment she could speak, she had been enchanted by the night. While other children hid from shadows or sought comfort in fire-lit rooms, she would slip out to the dew-kissed meadows, lie on her back in the grass, and speak to the stars.
By Omid khan7 days ago in Fiction