Fantasy
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
One day, in a brilliant flash of light, Sparta, the time-traveling corgi, found himself in a mystical land filled with ancient prophecies and enchantments. The air shimmered with magic, and strange, colorful plants whispered as he trotted past.
By Carolyn Patton5 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
It was an ordinary day in the garden, or so Pandora thought. As the sun cast golden rays across the blooming flowers, she strolled with her loyal corgi, Sparta, who sniffed eagerly at the air. But then, Sparta’s antique watch, always hidden beneath his fur, began to twitch and glow.
By Carolyn Patton5 months ago in Chapters
The House at the Edge of the Orchard
The House at the Edge of the Orchard Clara parked her car at the foot of the dirt lane and sat for a moment, watching the house appear through the thinning mist. It stood at the edge of the orchard like a sentinel, weathered but proud, its white paint now chipped to gray. The apple trees behind it swayed gently, their branches heavy with fruit, just as they had been when she was a girl.
By Wings of Time 5 months ago in Chapters
The Sparta Chronicles. AI-Generated.
In the cobblestoned streets of Victorian London, where gas lamps flickered and fog rolled in like a curtain, a most peculiar partnership was about to begin. Sparta, the time-traveling corgi, found himself trotting along Baker Street, intrigued by the chatter of busy streets and the mysteries that hung thick in the air.
By Carolyn Patton5 months ago in Chapters
Adding to the Collection. Content Warning.
She just stood there with the silver spear in her hand, blood dripping from the tip; standing over the werewolf that had just attacked her family. Just a girl of twelve years with little to no skill in combat, she had just acted on fear. Chest rising and falling with the rhythm of her fast heartbeat, she fought to catch her breath along with her thoughts. Fists clenched tightly over the shaft of the spear knuckles white, gray eyes searching over the bodies of her mother and father who now both lay motionless feet away from the beast they had fought to protect her from. The swimming feeling in her head had become overwhelming, it felt like her stomach was rushing up to meet her throat; and it was. Dropping the spear where she stood, she dropped to her knees catching herself with her in the dirt; her body wretched up everything she had eaten for breakfast with her parents. Leaning forward on her knees, Revna coughed and spit what little she had left in her mouth. Staring down at what she just expelled she was void of any feeling of what she saw before her; all she knew was at that moment she no longer had parents to care for her on their little farm just outside the Northern village of Hraereksgil. Getting to her feet she picked up the heavy silver spear that belonged to her father, carrying it to the small home her mother kept neat and tidy; she sat it up against the door in the same place her father would put it after his hunts. Keeping her hand on the shaft of the spear a moment longer than necessary, she closed her eyes not wanting to return the massacre lying several feet from the front door. All she wanted to do was wash up and go lay down in her bed till the next day; dream that everything was okay. No, Revna was a twelve-year-old girl facing reality, forcing herself to be the big girl her mother always encouraged her to be and face her problem head on. Nightmare really was what she was facing, a horrifying nightmare where she was now an orphan and had to figure out how to survive the coming winter alone.
By Alina Anthony5 months ago in Chapters
Chapters of Life
M Mehran In the small town of Willowbrook, life moved slowly. People measured time not by clocks, but by the chapters of their own lives. Every home, every street, every shop carried memories, beginnings, and endings like invisible bookmarks in a book.
By Muhammad Mehran5 months ago in Chapters
Somebody's Someone - Chapter Six
The yellow glow of the lanterns still illuminated the quiet street when the first patrol car arrived, followed closely by a second. The atmosphere, which had held an air of festivity just moments ago, now felt heavy with tension. Two officers stepped out—one in his mid-40s, with a square jaw and a rigid posture suggesting he hadn’t blinked since boot camp. The other was younger and leaner, holding his belt like a shield, as if authority was something to be gripped tightly. Their names were stitched across their chests: Hollins and Greaves.
By Neshzivne Dadirri6 months ago in Chapters
