Prose Stories

🥇 1st Place - Best Prologue (Whispers Beneath the Ice mini-awards, 2025) 🥈 2nd Place - Best Writing Style (Enchanted Grave Awards, 2025) 🥈 2nd Place - Best Villain (Starfish Awards, 2025) ⸻ ✧ ⸻ Beneath the earth, the sun is only a memory - and its light is no longer free. The powerful have bottled it, priced it, and called it holy. Every flicker, every breath, must be paid for in Lumen. Lucy Farrow was born in the Gloom, where the air tastes of rust and hope is a dangerous thing. Her mother taught her to keep her glow low - to survive unseen. But when the light inside her begins to stir, Lucy's secret could unravel the order that keeps their divided city alive. High above, in the marble halls of the Halo, Prince Cassian Soleyne uncovers a secret among ink and dust - a forbidden lineage that could unmake the civilization he was born to protect. His duty is to snuff it out: his heart tells him to save it. As rebellion brews in the dark and doubt kindles in the light, their paths will cross - and together they will awaken a fire long thought dead. A Radiant who could bring back the dawn, and set the Light free. ⸻ ✧ ⸻ She sat at the polished desk in the Lantern Man's office, copying names in glowing ink. "Careful with the curves, bright girl," he said. Lucy straightened her quill. "Yes, sir." He smiled. Not unkind. Just heavy. "You've got a quick hand," he murmured. "That's rare here." She tried not to smile too widely at the praise. "Say, Lucy... how is your mother?" She dipped her quill again. "She's fine, sir." "Is she now?" His cane tapped gently against the floor. Lucy nodded, focused. "Maybe I should visit her," he said. "It's been a while." That made her brighten. "Of course, mister! You're always welcome." The tapping stopped. For a moment, there was only the scratching of her quill. Then the light above her flickered before settling into a slow, steady pulse. The Lantern Man watched it carefully. "Good", he said.

(Sequel to Ties and Fate.) Yang Zhilan's idyllic village life is shattered when her late adoptive father's past comes back to haunt her family as he had double-crossed a very powerful mercenary group. Adding to the turmoil, she doesn't remember the last 18 years of her life. Yang Zhilan knows for a fact she is not from her village and that she probably had a life somewhere. Nonetheless, her mother and brother are the only family she has ever known and will always cherish them. Fearing for their safety, Yang Zhilan's mother urges her and her brother Yang Chu to seek refuge in the city and only come back when everything has settled. Perhaps contact the army division led by the Xi successor who has been cracking down on mercenary groups recently . In the city, she luckily secures a job at the Xi company and to her surprise, becomes his assistant's assistant for a project upon his return from abroad. However, their first encounter leaves the Xi successor, Xi Jinwei visibly shaken, as if he has seen a ghost from his past. As Yang Zhilan navigates her new life, long-buried secrets unravel, jealous love interests emerge and dangerous individuals threaten to disrupt the delicate balance she has found. In the midst of this turmoil, she must confront the ultimate question: is she worthy of Xi Jinwei's affection and the privileged life he represents? And most of all, who is she? (Sequel to Ties and Fate.)

──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 is a poetic memoir of becoming, an unfolding of myself, one fragile petal at a time. This collection traces my journey through the fragile and tangled years of teenagehood. Through each poem, you would get a glimpse of raw and unfiltered moments of love, heartbreak, loss, confusion and even hints of clarity. The title is more than just a name : it is a metaphor of growth and acceptance . Each year, each experience was a petal unfolding . Some were soft like teenage innocence while others were jagged, stained with blood, weathered by heartbreak and resilient in reaching. Some were glowing red under the eternal sunlight of euphoria while others were withered due to the droughts of insecurity and floods of pent up emotions . But together these roses compose the bouquet of my becoming. Now I offer this bouquet to you, dear reader, and hope you find petals of your own and embrace the garden you are meant to be. ──────── ₊⋆☽◯☾⋆₊ ──────── 𝟒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 ⟪ h i g h e s t r a n k i n g s ⟫ #1 in poesia (out of 15k stories) #1 in spokenword (out of 4.57k stories) #1 in personalthoughts (out of 2.5k stories) #1 in personalexperience (out of 1.57k stories) #1 in freeverse (out of 7.74k stories)

The lesson will repeat itself until you learn from it. This quote alone symbolizes the tale of A dance with A Necromancer. A foretelling memoir of one woman's secret double life finding her in each and every lifetime. All secrets don't stay buried and not all Ghosts are dead.

Just a bunch of fictional diary entries I came up with because i was bored lol ! Very Victorian-style prose and vocabulary A/N: This piece is stylistically inspired by older literary English rather than written as a strict historical or linguistic recreation of any one period. It's a creative exercise focused on voice and mood, not accuracy. Cover: Pinterest

For everything that endures, season after season.

What do you do when the world is quiet but your mind won't shut up? 3:04 A.M. is a haunting, intimate collection of fragmented thoughts, whispered confessions, and emotional snapshots scribbled in the dark. Equal parts journal, poetry, and stream-of-consciousness therapy, this book captures the sleepless moments where memories hit hardest, regrets echo loudest, and truths are too raw to say aloud. With the vulnerable honesty of a midnight voicemail and the strange comfort of a stranger's open diary, these unsent messages explore love, loss, nostalgia, and the beautiful chaos of being awake when everyone else is dreaming. This is not a book you read - it's one you feel. This is especially made for anyone who has ever stared at the ceiling and thought, "I shouldn't be feeling this much right now."

The storm said to the wall, "I rage to give you purpose." And then the storm said to me, "I rage to give you life."

This is a collection of raw, fleeting, and heartfelt moments - tiny windows into countless emotions. Each piece stands alone, yet together they weave a tapestry of thoughts, memories, and what-ifs. Some are gentle, some sting, and some stay with you longer than you expect. There are no perfect plots here - only fragments of feeling, shaped into words for those who love to imagine between the lines.

Là où le recueil Caramel brûlé a servi d'ossature au roman Non réclamé, Pot-pourri réunit des poèmes inspirés par ce dernier. Non réclamé est encore en cours d'écriture.

The handwriting in the margins is mine. I don't remember writing it. Something has been leaving notes in the hours I can't account for. It knows my routine. It knows where I sit. It's learning me. This is what I've documented so far.

a collection of prose photo from pinterest

a collection of poetry.. written by me.

I hope my words reach you, a collection of poems and prose.

all poems written by me except stated otherwise

a poet's late night sentiments and its yearning pen Poetry and Prose Collection

A set of lost words bleeding in a poetic way of eloquence.... These poems aren't flawless still they know how some nights turned into the shattered hope of light and the days to never ending abyss of darkness..... Some words are not written to read but to feel.... For all those who are afraid to face the reality and bleed on a pieces of paper

Snippets and drafts written in fulfillment of graduate classwork. Works range from nonfiction to poetry. Consider this a public binder bc I keep losing pieces in my drive/laptop.

A collection of prose and short stories

A collection of poems, songs and fiction snippets.