What would happen if the God of Death, while performing his ordinary duties, found someone immune to his tricks? Beware the twisted consequences of this grim encounter, brought upon by fate, that entangled their stories together.

"Once upon a time, in the early 1890s, the magnificent warship Ertugrul sailed proudly upon the seas as the grand symbol of the Ottoman Empire's glory. This elderly vessel was about to embark on a journey that would etch its name into the pages of history. Ali, a young Ottoman officer, stood with...

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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...

"If by any chance we meet again—and we might not—but if we do and we still have feelings for each other, can you promise me something?"

The God of Death is an unconquerable, unnatural, ubiquitous force. So what happens when it travels down to the earthly realm and meets those who worship it? "Death stares at the boy. It really looks into those hollow eyes, red-rimmed and desperate yet authentic. This boy really loves...it. Th...

As a virus spreads through the heart of Eros City, Detective Kean is on a relentless quest to unravel a string of mysterious suicides that defy explanation. A short story written for the YOASOBI x Honeyfeed Writing Contest. Feedback encouraged and appreciated.

She was the one I loved most, and her secret nickname was “My Bridge to Life”. “Love?” As contradicting it is to say , this story is not a romantic drama! I could only describe us like this: Our connection at the start was a thread. Every time I made a crack on you, the bridge, ...

Standing by the tracks of a train, a boy takes a step towards the other side. But life has more in store for him than he could ever know.

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...