Marked by the blood of dragons and feared by her village, Laya is forced to leave her family and come to live with Niar, the high Keeper. My would be entry for "End is near" if i would have time to write it fully😅

In an age where magic fades beneath the glow of electric light, a butler accepts a peculiar assignment: watch over the eldest son of a wealthy elven family. Cold, distant, and bound by duty, Everett Valandor seems every bit the noble elite. But as the days stretch on, what begins as simple observ...

It is a journal of someone trying to get away, trying to be free, but encountering something that they will never return.

In a distant future where space travel is accessible to everyone, a solitary astronaut was stranded far from home after a failed mission severely damaged his spaceship. While working to fix the broken vehicle, he comes across another astronaut, a mysterious and alluring woman. The two immediat...

“How disgusting,” thought Eros, watching Thanatos commit murders with an innocent smile. Eros, not being able to stop her, needed validation. So upon seeing and meeting Sora, can Eros finally feel fulfilled…? TW: mention of suicide A short story by me for the YOASOBI x Honeyfeed contest, ba...

Nadia wasn't supposed to want or feel anything. Her Creator gave her a purpose, and she will fulfil it! But why is she hesitating to heal herself with Zack's soul? What else is she supposed to do with it? Why... doesn't she want to let him go?

If life is the place with colors and fun. And depression is an all-engulfing pitch-black swamp. Then... what about me?

A sweet song filled the air as the wheels of the train clattered along the track, quickly approaching the station. Her wrists were itchy and sore from her past attempt. Yet that sweet song still hung in the air around her, beckoning her closer to the edge as a green-eyed stranger watched from the...

Eros, the eternal painter, dwells on his current circumstances.

See, that’s the curse she placed on me all those years ago. I see it in the hundreds of grotesque butterflies lining the veins along her wrists. But butterflies aren’t pink in nature—it’s ink, and paint, and blood that coats her lips and spills into the shadows. “She looks a lot like someone...