Fable
Saint Nicholas' Last Ride
The snow fell in ashen flakes, the sky above a perpetual gray that mirrored the despair of the world below. In the year 2147, Christmas was a relic, outlawed decades earlier by the Council of Unity. Declared a source of division and greed, the holiday and its traditions were erased from history books. But whispers of rebellion persisted—quiet murmurs of a time when people gathered, when joy and giving weren’t crimes.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
Gift of Wrath
The holiday party was in full swing, with laughter and the hum of festive music filling the air. Emily, the office manager, had outdone herself this year. A crackling fire, garlands draped across every surface, and a massive Christmas tree glittering with golden ornaments dominated the room. In the corner, the Secret Santa table overflowed with wrapped gifts.
By V-Ink Stories2 months ago in Fiction
“The Cunning Fox and the Tree of Truth”
In a quiet corner of an ancient forest—where sunlight filtered softly through towering trees and the smell of damp leaves filled the air—stood a mysterious old tree. The animals called it The Tree of Truth. No one knew how old it really was, but legend said the tree had an extraordinary gift:
By hamad khan2 months ago in Fiction
The Truth Beyond Touch
The village of Noorabad lay nestled between rolling green fields and distant blue hills. It was a small place where the days moved slowly and the nights hummed with stories told under lantern light. Among the villagers lived five blind men, each known for a special quality. Though they could not see the world, the world saw them.
By hamad khan2 months ago in Fiction
To Dust
The world ended on a Wednesday. Not with fire or thunder or a sudden vanishing—just a quiet, almost polite collapse. The sun rose pale. The air tasted metallic. And the dust, fine as ash and soft as winter breath, drifted from the horizon like a slow-moving tide.
By Alexander Mind2 months ago in Fiction
To Dust. Top Story - December 2025. Content Warning.
Cassus stood before the locked and barred tomb. Twenty years before, he laid its inhabitants to rest. It was as tombs made by families of modest wealth tended to be: four columns supporting an angled roof festooned with griffins, unicorns, and humble men seeking their eternal forgiveness from the Crescent Sun. The bards would pack the tavern with that irony. Cassus laughed to himself and the effort turned to a rasping cough that made his knees buckle. He knew he’d receive no such forgiveness when they laid him to rest.
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Fiction
