LUNA EDITH
Bio
Writer, storyteller, and lifelong learner. I share thoughts on life, creativity, and everything in between. Here to connect, inspire, and grow — one story at a time.
Stories (251)
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Definition of Wisdom
Henry Dalton was the kind of man who measured success in numbers. The number of hours worked, the number of awards received, the number of times he was praised for being right. From a young age, he believed that wisdom meant knowing more than others — that the smartest person in the room was automatically the wisest.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in The Swamp
Psychology of Why We Hide Our Feelings
Eleanor Hughes had mastered the art of pretending. To her friends, she was cheerful and composed. To her colleagues, she was confident and calm. Even to herself, she appeared fine. But every night, when she returned to her small flat in Edinburgh and the world fell quiet, she felt like a room filled with unsaid words.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Psyche
Hidden Power of Boredom
Sophie Grant had always feared silence. She grew up in a world that worshipped noise — buzzing phones, endless scrolling, constant conversation. If a moment felt too quiet, she filled it. Music, messages, news — anything to avoid that hollow pause that made her feel like life was slipping past her.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Motivation
Philosophy of Regret
Edward Blythe had spent his life collecting moments he could not return to. He was a philosophy professor in Oxford, admired for his calm mind and quiet wisdom. His lectures on time, morality, and choice often drew students from across Europe. They said he spoke about life as though he had already lived several. What they didn’t know was that he carried a secret, one that weighed more heavily with each passing year.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Education
Education of Loss
When Daniel Harper lost his wife, he didn’t cry at the funeral. People whispered that he must be heartless, but he wasn’t. He was simply empty. After thirty years of marriage, his world had become so tied to hers that when she was gone, it was as if the language of life had changed overnight, and he no longer knew the words.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Humans
Cried Clay
In a quiet village in southern France, there lived a sculptor named Adrien Marchand. His hands were known across the region for turning lifeless clay into faces that seemed almost ready to breathe. He never married, never had children, and rarely spoke. He lived for his art — and for the one memory that haunted him every day.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Art
Face in the Water
On the edge of a quiet English village, there was a pond that people said was cursed. Children were told never to go near it at night, for it was said that a face sometimes appeared on the surface when the moon was full. Most laughed at the story. But for Eleanor Gray, the pond was more than a tale. It was where her brother had vanished twelve years ago.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Fiction
Plague Doctor’s Journal
The journal was found in a wooden chest beneath the floorboards of an old house in Venice. Its pages were brittle, its ink faded, but the handwriting was elegant and precise. On the first page was a single line written in Latin: “To heal the living, one must walk with the dying.”
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in History
Crown of Dust
In the heart of an old English town stood a crumbling mansion that had long been forgotten. The locals called it the Ashbourne House. Its gates were rusted, its windows clouded, and ivy crawled like veins up its walls. But once, it had been filled with laughter, music, and light.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in History
Poet Who Wrote Without Ink
In a small village near the coast of Ireland lived a man named Thomas Gray. He wasn’t famous, nor was he rich. He worked as a postman, walking miles each day through rain and fog, delivering letters no one remembered once they were opened. Yet, in his pocket, Thomas carried poems — not written on paper, but carved in memory.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Motivation
Art That Breathed
In a quiet street in Florence, Italy, where every corner smelled of paint and coffee, there stood a small art studio with cracked windows and ivy creeping up its walls. Inside, a man named Luca spent his days surrounded by canvases that never sold and colors that refused to fade.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Art
The Empire of Candles
In a quiet corner of an old European town stood a little candle shop that smelled of beeswax, rose oil, and time itself. Its wooden sign read “The Empire of Candles,” though there was nothing grand about it. The shop was run by a man named Arthur, whose hands were always dusted with wax and whose heart carried the soft glow of a hundred tiny flames.
By LUNA EDITH4 months ago in Humans
