Tag: #writing
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The Library Beneath the Roots
The first thing Mira noticed was the smell—old paper and petrichor, like rain on ancient stone. She hadn’t meant to find the place. Honestly, she’d been running from the storm. The forest of Verrenwood was notorious for its silence, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears until you start hearing your own heartbeat…
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The House That Spoke My Name
I suppose I should start by saying this: the house wasn’t haunted. Not really.At least, not in the way people mean when they say that word—no floating plates, no ghostly whispers at three in the morning. It was quieter than that. The kind of quiet that presses on your ears until you start hearing your…
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Between the Whispers of Sleep
Evan Cross hadn’t slept in three days—or maybe he had, but just didn’t remember waking up. Time had become something of a suggestion lately, a fog-draped blur where clocks ticked backward and shadows whispered in familiar voices. He sat in his apartment’s living room, staring at the peeling wallpaper. Sometimes the patterns moved. Sometimes they…
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The Weekend That Wasn’t Planned
It started with a phone call—short, apologetic, and just like that, everything she’d been preparing for vanished. “Hey, Emma, sorry to do this last minute,” her boss said, voice tight with fake regret. “The conference in Denver’s been postponed. We’ll reschedule next quarter.” Emma stared at her color-coded planner, still open on her desk. Three…