I knew I’d become a premium teacher when Joshua looked me dead in the face and exclaimed between patterned giggles, “Shut up, bitch!”

As my eyes narrowed, I remembered when he was introduced to me as being nonverbal— the more peaceful seven days of my career. He came to me aged seven, a year late to first grade. It was his first time ever in school. As I doubled over, I searched his pupils to see if he understood the weight of his words— well if he did, he thought they were very funny, but not nearly as funny as the time he sprinted atop a line of desks screaming the complete Spider-Man theme song. Nonverbal, they said.

“Who are you talking to?” I finally dared to ask, the ‘b’ word swirling my brain.

“You,” he giggled, grinning bucked teeth.

“Me,” I affirmed to myself. How silly of me to have asked.

“Remember that week you couldn’t talk?” I recalled, the better days.

“Yeah,” he giggled, nodding his head. “I know Ms. Johns, yeah I know.”

Ms. Johns, he’d decided I was sometime throughout the year, as opposed to my obviously incorrect title Ms. Johnson.

“In any case, we’ve worked on alternatives,” I reminded him. “When you want to say, b- you should say—.”

“Witch!” he cheered, blonde hairs flopping up and over his forehead. “Me forgot Ms. Johns. Oh shi— shoot.”

Somehow I was very proud— but not as proud as the day he ran atop a line of desks, and I realized he knew all the words to the Spider-Man theme song.

“Come on my kid,” I said, extending my hand for him to grasp. His little fingers coiled around my own; I wondered if fingers could be so small, or if I was older than I realized.

“You remembered to get your tablet off my desk, didn’t you? To bring it home, and leave forever?” I asked, as we sauntered down the hall. His book bag nearly overpowered him. It looked like a big black turtle shell, swallowing him whole—but I suppose the ‘b’ in me felt too witchy to help, despite the burst of pride.

“Yeah Ms. Johns,” he nodded fast. “Me got my tablet.”

“Good. Your bear?”

“Yeah Ms. Johns. Me got my bear.”

“Good,” I said. “That you can bring, tomorrow.”

I stopped us in our tracks, before we could cross the threshold to the outside, and the bus. “But did you remember your homework?”

He rolled his eyes, but he grinned. “Oh dam— dang it Ms. Johns!”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Joshua!” I cheered for him. “You used an alternative!”

When Joshua ran off to the bus, homework in hand, I wondered if a teacher measured premium status, not by the number of students she convinced not to swear, but by the number who chose a replacement when the hot and juicy one was dancing on their tongue. I shrugged. I figured somewhere between being a ‘b’ or a stone cold witch— I’d earned it.

Hey y'all, here is a story from when I was a baby PowderFresh86. I was 18 and had just gotten my first paid job at a fast food restaurant known for square shaped burger meat. I was usually placed on front cash register to deal with customers in person. There were a decent amount of highschool students working there along with a few older folk. Most of the high schoolers attended the same school and therefore knew one another. One of the young men was immense for a child. He stood over 6 ft or 182.88 cm tall and was very large. The other teens were afraid of him as they said that he was a known bully at their school.

We all received an employee discount on food, which we all paid except him. If no manager was around he would grab his food and just walk past the registers and into the dining room. The teens allowed it as they were seriously afraid of him. This started becoming an issue because food was not being accounted for and the managers started asking questions. He never did that when I was on register because we worked at different times and didn't interact much at first. One day, we worked the same shift and he grabbed his food and tried to walk off without paying while I was on register. I rung up his stuff and called out the price to him.

He immediately became angry and asked what I was doing. I replied that I was ringing up his food and repeated the amount due. He angrily paid it by throwing it on the counter. Later that week when I left the bathroom he stood in the hallway with a spray bottle of cleaner and tried to spray it at me. I stepped back and just looked at him. He started laughing and walked away. All that week I rung his food up and he was rude and aggressive towards me. One day, as I was grabbing fries from the walk-in freezer he closed the door and locked me in. I started beating on the door and an older worker who was open about having served time let me out. He warned the boy not so politely that if he continued bothering me they would have a problem.

The boy stopped for a while because the man was there watching. However, one week the man called out sick. I continued ringing the boy's food up. Later, the place was empty and I went on my break. He walked down into the dining area where I was. There is a lower area with a few steps and a half wall. He blocked me as I tried to get by and clock back in. I told him to move and he said that he was sick of me. He picked up a dining chair and threatened to hit me with it. The other teens just watched quietly. He jumped at me as if to swing the chair. Some words were exchanged and I pulled out my phone and called the police on him.

He put the chair down and ran to the back. The police came and I was in tears explaining the situation. The cops said I did the right thing and asked if I wanted to press charges. One cop took me to the side and said that the boy was immature and stupid. He asked if I wanted to ruin his future since nothing actually happened. I cried harder and said just give him a warning but I wouldn't press charges. Y'all we both got fired. Him for obvious reasons and me because I CALLED 911 ON SOMEONE THREATENING TO HURT ME!

I was hurt about that for a while. I was told that I should've told a manager before escalating with police. I explained he was blocking me. It didn't matter as the general manager wanted us both gone. I became really depressed after and it took months before I was hired as a waitress at a diner. Looking back, knowing what I know now, I would have pressed charges and sued that restaurant for firing me over defending myself. Oh well, I was fresh out of highschool, a bit timid and ignorant of my rights.

I took the job because it came with a room.

That was the main thing. I didn't care about the hours or the pay. I just needed somewhere to stay, and the owner didn't ask many questions. He showed me the desk, the security monitors, and a narrow room behind the laundry where I could sleep during the day.

Then he explained the rules.

Lock the front door at two in the morning. Unlock it at six. Never leave the desk unattended. If a guest complained, write it down. If someone asked for a room that wasn't available, tell them we were full.

"Anything else?" I asked.

He thought about it.

"If a guest asks whether someone has checked out, tell them you don't know."

I assumed he meant not to discuss other guests with them.

The hotel was old. It had once been grand, judging by the faded photographs in the lobby, but now it smelled of damp carpet and lemon polish. There were twelve rooms, most of them empty. The occupied ones belonged to people who paid weekly and kept to themselves.

My first few weeks were uneventful. I read books behind the desk, watched the security monitors, and made coffee at six. I learned which floorboards creaked and which lights needed replacing.

Then I noticed the man in room seven.

He'd been there for three weeks, according to my memory. Middle-aged, neatly dressed, with a narrow face and thinning hair. He never complained, never asked for anything, and always nodded when he passed the desk.

I couldn't remember his name.

That wasn't unusual. I wasn't particularly good with names. But whenever I tried to recall his face, I found myself thinking about something else instead. A bill I needed to pay. A book I'd been reading. The coffee machine.

Anything except him.

I started noticing his routine.

Every night at eleven, he left the hotel. He walked down the front steps, turned left, and disappeared around the corner. At one, he returned, nodded at me, and went upstairs.

Every night.

I watched him on the security monitors. The picture was grainy, and the cameras were old, but I could see him clearly enough.

One night, I noticed something strange.

The hallway camera showed him passing room seven at eleven. I looked up from the monitor and saw him standing at the desk, waiting for me to finish my coffee.

I looked back at the screen.

The hallway was empty.

When I looked up again, he was still there.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

I nearly dropped my cup.

"Fine. Sorry. Didn't hear you come down."

He nodded, as if I'd said something perfectly reasonable, and walked out.

The following morning, I asked the owner about him.

"Room seven. Who's staying there?"

The owner checked the register.

"No one."

I laughed because I thought he was joking.

"He pays weekly. He's been here for three weeks."

The owner turned the register towards me.

Room seven was blank.

I checked the other pages. There were names, dates, payments, signatures. Room seven had nothing.

"Perhaps you've mixed up the room number," the owner said.

I hadn't.

I knew I hadn't.

I went upstairs and knocked on room seven. Nobody answered. When I opened the door, the room was empty. No bed, no furniture, not even curtains. Just bare floorboards and a window overlooking the street.

I stood there for a while, trying to understand why I remembered making his bed.

Then I went back downstairs.

That night, the man returned at one, nodded at me, and climbed the stairs.

I didn't ask where he'd been.

A few days later, I followed him.

I waited until eleven and watched him leave. Then I grabbed my coat and went after him, keeping far enough behind that he wouldn't notice.

He walked three blocks, turned left, then crossed the road without looking. Eventually, he stopped outside a narrow brick building with boarded-up windows.

He stood facing the entrance.

Not looking around. Not checking his watch.

Just standing there.

I waited for him to knock, or try the door, or do something that would explain why he'd come all this way.

He did nothing.

At one, he turned around and walked back to the hotel.

I followed him inside.

He nodded at me as he passed the desk.

I nodded back.

Neither of us said a word.

The next morning, I searched the building's address online. There was nothing useful, just an old street listing and a photograph of the same brick facade. The building had been empty for years.

I didn't tell the owner what I'd found.

I began watching the other guests more carefully.

There was a woman in room three who wore a grey coat and carried a handbag with a broken clasp. A man in room nine who always had wet shoes, even when it hadn't rained. Someone in room eleven who never appeared on the lobby camera but whose footsteps I could hear on the stairs.

They all left at eleven.

They all returned at one.

And none of them existed in the register.

When I asked the owner about it, he didn't even bother checking the book.

"You're new here," he said.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. You'll get used to it."

"Get used to what?"

He picked up his keys and left.

I started keeping a log.

Room number. Time of departure. Description. Time of return.

I wrote everything down because I was afraid that if I didn't, I'd forget. And I was beginning to forget things.

Small things at first.

Whether I'd eaten that day. Whether I'd spoken to the owner. Whether I'd locked the front door before going upstairs.

Once, I found a cup of coffee on the desk, still warm, with my name written on it in black marker.

I didn't remember making it.

Another time, I found a sentence in my notebook that I didn't remember writing.

Don't follow them inside.

I crossed it out.

The handwriting looked like mine.

After two weeks, the log was full. I compared it with the register, checking every name, every room, every date.

Nothing matched.

Not one guest.

I took the notebook to the owner.

"Who are these people?"

He looked at the pages.

For a moment, something changed in his expression. Not surprise. Not confusion.

Recognition.

Then it was gone.

"What people?"

"The guests. The ones leaving every night. The ones in rooms three, seven, nine, and eleven."

He closed the notebook.

"There are no guests in those rooms."

"I've seen them."

"I know."

The words came out so quietly that I almost missed them.

I stared at him.

"What do you mean, you know?"

He pushed the notebook back across the desk.

"You're tired. Get some sleep."

I grabbed his wrist before he could walk away.

"Tell me what's happening."

He looked down at my hand until I let go.

Then he straightened his sleeve.

"You're the night porter," he said. "Your job is to keep the hotel running."

He left me alone at the desk.

That night, I didn't watch the monitors.

I went upstairs instead.

Room three was empty. Room seven was empty. Room nine was empty. Room eleven was empty.

I checked every room in the hotel.

All twelve.

Some had beds and furniture. Others were bare, as if they had never been used. But there was no luggage, no clothing, no personal belongings. Nothing that suggested anyone had stayed there.

I went back downstairs and sat in front of the monitors.

The lobby was empty.

The stairs were empty.

The hallways were empty.

I rewound the footage from the previous night.

At eleven, the woman in the grey coat walked out through the front door. At one, she returned.

I watched it again.

At eleven, she walked out.

At one, she returned.

I slowed the footage down.

She entered the lobby, stopped in front of the desk, and looked directly at the camera.

Then she smiled.

I had never seen her smile before.

I leaned closer to the screen.

She raised one hand and pointed towards the desk.

Towards me.

I turned around so quickly that my chair struck the wall.

Nobody was there.

When I looked back at the monitor, the footage had moved on. The lobby was empty again.

I checked the register.

Room three was blank. Room seven was blank. Room nine was blank. Room eleven was blank.

But room one had an entry.

My name.

The date beside it was three weeks earlier.

I stared at the page, trying to remember the first night I'd arrived at the hotel. The owner showing me the desk. The narrow room behind the laundry. The keys.

I could remember all of it.

Except the journey there.

I couldn't remember where I'd come from.

I couldn't remember the last place I'd slept before the hotel.

I couldn't remember the name of the person I'd called when I got the job.

I searched my pockets for my phone.

There were no contacts saved in it.

The following morning, I asked the owner when I'd checked in.

He didn't answer immediately.

"Room one," I said. "The register says I've been here for three weeks."

He looked at the page.

"Does it?"

"You hired me three weeks ago."

"Did I?"

For the first time since I'd met him, I couldn't tell whether he was joking.

I went into the little room behind the laundry and locked the door.

There was a narrow bed, a sink, and a wardrobe. I'd been sleeping there every day.

I knew that.

I also knew I'd never seen the room in daylight.

I opened the wardrobe.

Inside hung a grey coat.

I recognised it immediately, though I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before.

There was something in the pocket. A folded slip of paper, soft at the edges, as if it had been handled many times.

On it, in my handwriting, were six words.

When they return, don't let them in.

I sat on the bed until it was time to go downstairs.

At eleven, the front door opened.

The man from room seven stood in the lobby.

He looked exactly as he always had. Neatly dressed. Hands in his pockets. Patient.

He glanced at the desk.

I kept my eyes on the register.

"Evening," he said.

I didn't answer.

He waited a moment, then walked out.

At one, I heard footsteps on the stairs.

I looked up.

The man stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at me.

Behind him, the woman in the grey coat came down from the second floor. Then the man with the wet shoes. Then someone I didn't recognise.

They gathered in the lobby, facing the desk.

Nobody spoke.

I reached for the phone to call the owner.

The line was dead.

When I looked up again, the lobby was empty.

The front door was open.

I got up to close it, but stopped when I saw the security monitor.

The camera showed me standing at the desk.

Behind me, the guests were gathering in the lobby.

One by one, they walked past me and went out through the open door.

I watched until the last one disappeared.

Then I looked at the desk.

There was a new page in the logbook.

The entries were written in my handwriting.

Room seven. Eleven PM. Departed.

Room seven. One AM. Returned.

Room three. Eleven PM. Departed.

Room three. One AM. Returned.

At the bottom of the page, beneath the last entry, was a sentence.

Room one is still occupied.

I turned towards the stairs.

Someone was standing at the top.

I couldn't see their face, but I could see the grey coat. The same coat hanging in my wardrobe.

They began to descend.

I backed away from the desk.

The figure stopped halfway down and looked towards the front door.

Then, slowly, it turned its head towards me.

I knew that face.

I knew it so well that, for a moment, I forgot to be afraid.

It was mine.

The figure smiled.

I looked down at the logbook.

A final line had appeared beneath the others.

Room one. Eleven PM. Departed.

I checked the clock.

It was eleven.

Behind me, the front door opened.

And from somewhere outside, I heard my own voice ask:

"Is anyone staying in room one?"

Here’s the last post for anyone who hasn’t been following along so far
https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/s/GVPVOlR5EA
This post might be longer than the others btw

Anyways, this Wednesday i was thinking a lot. I barely got any sleep to be honest. I was reading comments in my mind over and over again. Some were supportive, others were helpful and the amazing people who actually DM me were just great people, you guys know who you are. But some comments weren’t as good or helpful as others. Some were harsh and eventually removed from the mods. Others said my friend’s decision of keeping the baby was the bad choice and sad for me to convince her to an abortion. The worst one was someone calling my friend a “future whore” and that shes just locking me into her life for money. I won’t reveal their names/usernames but you know who you are and you people are horrible and disgusting for that. If you have nothing good to say, dont say anything at all.

So Much happened in the past two days. I have Infact gotten certain vitamins for my friend, I keep some with me in case and sent the rest to her. I’ve also talked with my friend yesterday. She was talking about OB doctors and told me that going to an OB is not necessary as of now and going to a family doctor will be better.

So about our parents. We told her parents first. Yesterday in fact. I texted her, asking when we should tell our parents and she replied that she wants to tell them as soon as possible because she hates keeping things from them which I respect. Now the troubling part was to get her divorced parents in the same room let alone the same kilometre. She texted me to come by her dad’s house in about an hour so that was around 8:20pm when she wanted me to arrive. Luckily I was already not at home so my parents wouldnt suspect anything if I left so suddenly. So I get there around 8:25 and luckily her dads house is actually pretty close to mine so it wasn’t that bad. I get into the living room and I saw her parents on the same couch which I haven’t seen in a long time. 3 years to be exact. I sat down beside my friend and I could see her hands shaking. Knee bouncing. She was so obviously nervous and to be honest, I was too. I was atleast composed on the outside so nobody really saw what was happening on the inside and I can explain what was happening inside with one emoji. 💥. I could feel my ears burning but it was cold out so I think they didn’t connect dots the right way.

Anyways, my friend starts taking, voice genuinely trembling to the point she restarted 3 times in the past ten seconds. So I needed to do something and my big brain came up with the idea to just hold her hand. Which I did and it was responded with a squeeze. So she begins again. More calm this time. She tells her parents what happened and for some reason when too much into detail. I mean, she was telling them exactly how we got in bed. So im feeling two things right now. 1. Im proud that she is doing this very well and 2. I could feel her dad staring into my soul.

So her parents let her keep talking and didn’t interrupt at all. And when she finished, it was quiet. Tension was thick enough to cut it with a knife. Then her dad said “is that all?” She nodded. And then her dad nodded. Stayed quiet for a few more moments. I look at her mom and I could see her trying to make sense of it all and then she said what we both had been hoping to hear. She told us both that no matter what happens she will always be there for us and will try her best to support our decisions. My friend at this point had tears streaming down her face and her dad was the one to wipe them away and I can’t lie. I teared up too because for three years I’ve seen these three arguing about custody, where to stay, different arrangements and right now they all were just together and it was genuinely amazing to see.

So about an hour later. My friend, she walks me outside because it was time for me to go home and she asks me if I want her to be there when I tell my own parents and the thought had crossed my mind a few times but I would rather her not be there because I have no idea how my parents would react to her. So I tell her it’s fine, I can do it alone. We hug, moments longer than usual and I get home.

At night, I was lying in my bed and the only thing I could hear was my brother’s snoring since we share a room. I was deep in thought. Trying to figure out how I was gonna drop this nuclear bomb in our quiet life. I was terrified and it didn’t help to know my three siblings would probably be there when I tell.

So now it’s friday(today obviously.) i come home from school. Tired and feeing like I have a cold and I still had no idea what I would say. So I freshen up, change my clothes and sit in the living room on the floor in front of my parents. My siblings on the other couches. I tell them I need to say something and I cannot keep it secret anymore. They were quiet as always but quiet didnt mean calm. Then the words just come pouring out from the back of my throat. What happened in my room a few weeks ago. The distance between me and my friend, the eventual truth coming out. The tests and yesterday when we told her parents. Midway through, my dad left the room. By the time I was done my mom wouldn’t look at me. My brothers found their phones suddenly very interesting and only my sister would actually look at me. Then my mom told me to go to my room because she’ll deal with me later.

I get up into my room and was pacing back and forth end to end of the room. I was confused and hurt. All I needed was an answer but instead got total silence. About an hour later my dad entered my room when I was sitting on my bed. He sat down beside me while still keeping a good foot between us. We both sat in silence for about two minutes before he finally spoke up, asking if I was handling it well and taking care of the girl. I tell him im trying my best to take care of everything with me and my friend, paying for necessities, taking extra shifts all while balancing school. My dad puts his hand on my back and told me that he’s proud of me. That I’ve been working too hard for a teenager and that he and my mom made me grow up too quick that I couldn’t get a proper childhood and that he’s sorry. Then he pulled me into a tight hug and right there was where three weeks of stress, nervousness, and anxiety just came down and I couldn’t hold it in anymore and just fully bawled my eyes out. Genuine sobs wracking my whole body

By the time I was in bed i already started to write this and I get a message from my sister. She had sent me $100 with a note telling me to take my friend out for dinner somewhere nice, saying that we both deserve it. I don’t even know if she would say yes but maybe it would be worth asking? So I did. I texted her, asking if we can go out for dinner sometime, maybe next week. Despite the time, she replied in like two minutes and said this word for word “id love to. Is the 24th good for you??” I think everything will be just fine for everyone involved

I’ll update when something bigger happens❤️

I always wanted to be like her.

In the way she spoke, the subtle gestures of her hands, and the elegance she carried into every room. Everyone talked about her angelic touch. Her features were perfectly symmetrical—not a single flaw on her body. She had a natural charisma combined with sharp intellect; everything about her seemed deliberately designed to mesmerize.

A perfect life. A perfect body. A perfect status. Nothing could dethrone an angel.

She even managed to take the man of my dreams. Before she had him, Julian was mine. He had promised me a future, everything a woman could ever want. Then he saw her, and my existence simply ceased to matter.

It all started during our senior year of high school. I was waiting for Julian in the driveway, wearing my favorite red dress. He arrived in a black tuxedo with flowers in hand. We danced, grabbed burgers from our spot, and drove around listening to Guns N' Roses at full volume before sharing a passionate kiss. He took me to his house afterward.

"Wait for me here," he whispered. "My parents aren't home. I have a surprise."

I waited in his bedroom, touched up my makeup, sprayed perfume on the sheets, and checked myself in the mirror. It was supposed to be the night of my dreams. When he took too long, I walked out toward the garage.

When I turned the corner, I saw them. He was having sex with my sister.

"Honey, it's not what you think!" Julian stammered, pulling away. "I—she fell, I was just helping her!"

It was the pathetic excuse of a jerk. My sister just looked over his shoulder, smiled at me, and slammed the door. Julian and I broke up the next day, and we never spoke about it again.

They stayed together for years. They were the golden couple:

They spent warm afternoons kissing on the front curb.

My parents invited Julian to every family barbecue. My mother even gave them their first loan to fix his car.

They took long beach vacations while I stayed behind.

My parents loved him like a son. In college, she became a pageant queen, and he was the star quarterback. After graduation, Julian finished medical school and specialized in plastic surgery, practically becoming the Brad Pitt of our town. My sister earned her business degree and launched a massive real estate firm. They got married in Miami with a celebrity singer performing at their reception, and soon had two beautiful children.

That was when the idea took root in my head—a cold, crystalline thought that grew sharper every day.

If I wanted to be like her, I had to *be* her. In body, soul, and spirit. And the only way to be her was to take her place.

My name is Elena, but that name feels like a shroud I am ready to shed.

Her name is Seraphina—a name that sounds like light hitting stained glass. For months, I became her shadow. I memorized her schedule down to the second:

**7:00 AM:** Green smoothie, drops the kids at private school.

**8:00 AM:** Yoga in the solarium.

**10:00 AM:** Chairs her foundation board meeting.

**1:00 PM:** Picks up Sammy and Richard from school.

**2:00 PM:** Black jasmine tea in the garden.

**6:00 PM:** Julian comes home; they catch up on their day.

**8:00 PM:** Dinner with high-society friends and expensive wine.

**11:00 PM:** They go upstairs.

She was a creature of absolute routine, and that routine was her vulnerability.

I began by mirroring her. I bought identical silk dresses in shades of cream and sage. I trained for months to match her posture. I found her personal doctors, paid out of pocket, and underwent surgical procedures to align my face with hers. I hired a dialect coach to mimic her cadence and practiced her handwriting until my fingers cramped, duplicating the loops of her *l*s and *y*s.

I was becoming a ghost inhabiting her likeness. But the original shell was still in the way.

I started small. I left handwritten notes in her mailbox—written in her own distinct script—detailing exact moments of days she had already lived. I wanted her to feel the reality fraying around her before I snapped the thread completely.

I watched them through the library window one rainy Tuesday. Julian touched her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline. She looked into his eyes, but a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked softly. "I've noticed you've been distant lately."

"It's nothing," she murmured. "Have you ever felt like your life was... empty? Like you're looking for something more?"

"You need to see the doctor again, honey," he said, touching her shoulder.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again."

That was the only time I ever saw a crack in their facade. While I plotted my next move, I had to keep up appearances at my own home. My phone vibrated against the counter. It was my husband, Michael.

"Where are you?" he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion. "It's past 10 PM."

"At work, Michael. It was an emergency."

"Are you seeing someone else? You've been gone for days!"

"No! I'll explain when I get home."

"We need you here, Elena. Margaret needs you."

When I returned home, Michael was waiting. He was a good man—overweight, hardworking, manager at a local restaurant after fifteen years of grinding. But looking at him made my stomach turn. Our daughter, Margaret, looked so much like me. When she was born, Seraphina had visited with a teddy bear, hiding an envelope of cash inside its lining to "help us out."

I couldn't stand her charity. I couldn't stand my life.

I packed a bag, left a note for Michael and Margaret, and drove back to Seraphina's house. I clutched the heavy, cold brass key in my pocket—a duplicate made by a quiet locksmith.

The night was moonless—a night for disappearances.

I wore thin latex gloves under leather ones and slipped through the garden. The house smelled faintly of her expensive jasmine perfume. She was in the study, reading near a dying fire with a glass of wine.

Suddenly, the front door opened. Julian was back early.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called out.

Seraphina walked to greet him, a forced smile on her face.

"What if we get sushi tonight?" Julian suggested. "I'll grab the kids, pick up dinner, and we can stay in."

"That sounds wonderful," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

As soon as Julian drove away with the kids, Seraphina closed the door and collapsed onto the couch. She stared blankly at the ceiling in an oversized sweatshirt, her polished persona vanishing. She walked to the bathroom, and I crept closer, listening through the crack in the door.

"Mom," she whispered into a voicemail, her voice trembling. "I miss you so much. Call me when you get this. Tell Elena I say hi..."

I didn't give her another second.

When I struck, there was only the sharp intake of her breath. I used a heavy brass decorative piece from the side table. She went limp instantly. I dragged her down into the basement storage—a hollowed-out utility space behind the wine racks that she rarely used.

I took her ring, her clothes, her phone, and left her in the dark.

The next morning, I woke up in her bed, next to the man of my dreams.

I stood before her vanity mirror, applying the makeup techniques I had practiced for months. I pulled my hair into her signature tight bun, slipped on her silk robe, and walked downstairs.

Julian was in the kitchen reading the paper. He looked up, his eyes softening.

"Good morning, love," he said. "You look... radiant today."

"I had a wonderful dream," I replied, my voice perfectly pitched in her airy tone. "About us."

For weeks, the transition felt seamless. I inhabited her life—the wealth, the status, the respect. But perfection is a tightrope.

"Mom, why did you say that?" Sammy asked me one afternoon when I misremembered his practice schedule.

At a charity meeting, I accidentally re-asked a question I had answered the day before.

And then came the small domestic errors.

"Since when do you eat peanut butter?" Julian asked one morning, watching me spread it on toast. My heart stopped. Seraphina was deathly allergic to peanuts.

"I... I wanted to try a small amount, see if my tolerance changed," I lied smoothly, but I saw the flicker of confusion in his eyes.

Even Antonella, the housekeeper, began watching me with quiet, lingering glares. I knew I would have to get rid of her soon, too.

And then, last night, I found the white lily resting on the study desk.

I haven't gone back down to the basement since that night. But as I stare at that flower, my hands tremble. Because if I could become her by taking her life... who is to say someone else isn't waiting in the shadows to take mine?

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

Heavy pounding echoed from the front porch.

"Honey?" Julian called out from the hallway, adjusting his tie. "Someone's at the door. Could you check it? I'm late for the clinic."

"Sure, darling," I said, stepping toward the foyer.

I opened the front door.

Standing on the porch in the rain, hair matted and eyes wide with unhinged fury, was my sister.

"You crazy bitch," she whispered, pulling a weapon from her coat. "You took my life."

I smiled, closing the heavy wooden door behind me so Julian wouldn't hear.

*No,* I thought to myself. You took mine first.

Antes de que naciera mi hermana, tuve dos hermanitas que fallecieron prematuramente cuando yo tenía once años. Recuerdo que mi madre lloraba a diario y mi padre tenía que cuidarla; me partía el corazón verla así. Cuando mi madre me dijo que estaba embarazada, me sentí frustrada. No quería volver a verla tan destrozada, así que no entendía por qué querría pasar por aquello de nuevo. No creía que mi hermana fuera a sobrevivir, por lo que, egoístamente, me distancié y me preparé mentalmente para lo peor, hasta que mi madre trajo a mi hermana a casa desde el hospital. Ella me pidió que la sostuviera, pero me sentía nerviosa y un poco culpable, así que dudé hasta que mi madre insistió. Sin embargo, cuando por fin lo hice, ella rodeó mis dedos con los suyos y rompí a llorar. Sentí muchas emociones, pero sobre todo felicidad y alivio al ver que estaba allí. Prometí hacer todo lo posible por cuidarla. Aquello me enseñó lo importante que es tener fe en lo increíble y que protegerme del dolor también puede impedirme experimentar el amor y la felicidad. ¿Cómo te ayudó tu difícil experiencia a aceptar las incertidumbres del futuro?

It's late afternoon, and the kid, Jeff, walks into class. He sits, Peier, a bully next to him. Infront, James, Karla, and Maxwell.  Behind him, 20 others. The teacher, Mr. Simion begins presenting on biology, while James and Max goof off. An uncomfortable feeling fills Jeff. This is a new feeling, coming very very suddenly. He turns around, looks at the 20 others, and jabs a finger at Karla. “H-hey Karla…” he whispers “who is that kid, sitting in seat 12?” Karla whispers back “its… uh, they are… hm…” “right? Who the hell are they all” “oh my god…” she jabs max, shows him, and max jabs James. James whispers “how did I not see…?” Jeff interrupts the teacher “Mr. Simion, who is in seat 9?” Mr. Simion starts confident but drops it. “Why, it's… um… kuh…jay…. Uhm… buh…. What the-” everyone looks at each other, the 20 students acting almost like bots. Turning all together, looking the same amount of confusion, but not at their names, almost like at nothing at all… Mr. Simion walks up, and kinda pokes student 3. They don’t react. Mr. Simion snaps 3’s neck. The other 19 look shocked, but they all do the same action. “M-Mr. Simion…” max squeaks, the wall with the window melts away into TV static. “Uh, Everyo-one. Come away from the walls…” Mr. Simion says, as the back wall melts, then the wall with the door, then the roof, and the floor. The 19 others aren’t standing in the static. It's only Jeff, James, Karla, and Max. Jeff looks into the deep static “it's all a lie… its…” the others begin seeing the walls form again, Jeff frantically yells “STOP! DON’T GO BACK! It's not better! It's like a lobotomy. It calms us, but we lose the ability to be outside of the lie. Is it better to live in a lie, but be happy?” Karla, looks into the deep with Jeff. “yes, Jeff. It is.” She stops fighting, and the walls reappear to her, while to everyone, she just disappears. Jeff, turns around, “don’t…” the others give up, as they don’t want to keep fighting. The last thing they see of Jeff is him, facing the void. To everyone but Jeff, the world is normal. The NPCs are back, and everyone lives. But Jeff walks. Through painful storms, he wants to give up, he just wishes he was dead. After 5 hours, which to him, is a year, he makes it through. There, in front of him, is a cliff. Dark, gloomy hands reach out for him, begging him to come. “Give up, you won’t get anywhere!” “your life is a lie, you’ll die on your way! Make it faster!” “no one will miss you!” “you weren’t meant for anything” the voices over lap, ringing in his head. He peers in, and sees himself. His heart tugs. The arms tugs. The voices grow. It takes so much, but he turns around. Walking along the cliff, not in it. 13 hours in, he looks weak. He is much slower, the void still calling. One of his arms is gone, the void tore it off, leaving a trail of red from his path. After 60 more hours, he sees it. Light. He gets closer, and closer, with restored determination. But, as soon as he takes the first step, he collapses. He crawls up, but he can’t go further. He makes it to the real world, covered in blood, bleeding from his arm, ankles and nose, he cries. He looks up to the blue, beautiful sky, he closes his wet, weeping eyes, and never opens them again. The others forgot about him, but at least he finally saw the real, true, sky.

There’s something about being in a hotel with a beautiful woman who’s getting her dress on, while I’m ready to go, both having a strong drink. She’s getting herself ready and the lights of the city are out the window, we’re high up in the hotel. I’m dressed well, got my Dior sauvage on, which she loves. Brown pants. Dress shows. Button up shirt, but not all the way up. Hair dapper. All around dapper. She loves how I look.

Smelling her perfume, I wait for her to finish her hair and make up, seeing her come out of the bathroom… with a red dress, heels. We go out. Bar hop, club hop. Follow up the night with coming back to the room after a night out on the town, going back into the bathroom and putting her lingerie. Both feeling good from drinks, both appreciating being with each other…

This day was unlike others in its significance. An anniversary of sorts. A man walks casually down the sidewalk, a bundle of roses under his arm. The cool night air blew against his face. It smelt of freshly baked bread from the bakery that resided upon this very street. The shop was long closed, of course; but the scent of baked goods still lingered long after its closing.

The man's footsteps sounded out, echoing with his heavy footfalls upon the concrete. A passerby might dub the expression he wore as one of an eerie and unnerving nature. His eyes pierced through his surroundings, recalling the way this day had occurred two years ago today. 

~

Two years prior, he had a much more easygoing and happy expression; holding a bundle of roses for his bride-to-be. He strode into the bakery, the smell of baked bread and gingerbread gracing his nose with a comfortable warmth in the pit of his stomach. He scanned the other patrons' faces in the shop, searching for the bright red hair and freckled face of his beloved. He spotted her, his heart soaring; and he slid over next to her.

“Today's the day” he whispered into her ear. The young woman flinched back, but smiled delicately when she spotted the man. 

“The day?” she asked, conversationally, wiping a tabletop free of crumbs.

“Yes, today's the day you finally give me your name” he declared, in a tone that was carefully curated in its charming nature. The young woman’s face fell a bit, but after seeing so many people in her peripheral vision, she settled and contemplated how exactly she should answer.

“You're the man from the train” It wasn't a question, simply an observation; though he answered it as though it were.

“Yes, dear.” he flashed her a pleasant, and carefully innocent-seeming smile. She fidgeted a bit with the hem of her apron.

“H-how did you find me?” she asked, her eyes darting around in search of her manager; she didn't spot him, though. The woman reached for her heart-shaped necklace. The man knew not what sat inside, but was certain it had to have sentimental significance. She hadn't taken it off for a month, and the chain appeared a bit weathered. The man decided that he would purchase a new chain for the charm at his earliest convenience. Surely such an act would show her that he meant her only the utmost happiness and comfortability. 

Or perhaps she simply needed time.

The man continued wearing the easy smile that caused a bit of unease to shoot through her, but she tried to ignore it with little success.

A handful of people vacated the shop after receiving their orders, leaving only four in the bakery including the man and her. Her hands were becoming a bit sweaty with an anxious panic shooting through her system, screaming at her to flee this conversation. The man hadn't spoken for an uncomfortable period of time now, only smiling in a forced-charming sort of way. She blinked a few times to try and clear her mind, slowly beginning to wipe the table off once again, hoping that the man would realize that she wasn't interested in speaking with him.

She peered back into the face of the man. Still there. Still smiling. Her hand stilled from her previous wiping motion- she attempted to calm her nerves with a shaky breath. 

The man's continued unmoving presence sent a feeling of fear to the pit of her stomach and made her mouth feel parched and in need of a beverage. 

“You see, my dear, I know your name. But I'd much prefer it if you were the one to tell me.” The words left his lips and a sudden shiver shot down her spine at the alarming statement. 

“I um.. I think you should go, I-I’m a little busy with work, you see?” She tried to force her voice to stay casual, but the stuttered words revealed her discomfort. The man's face changed then; in the blink of an eye his eyes no longer looked welcoming; instead, they were analyzing and unnervingly piercing. 

His smile no longer was one of practiced warmth, instead shifting into an almost devious sort of scowl as he narrowed his eyes at her. He tilted his head at her, reminding the woman greatly of a wolf eyeing its prey from afar. The smell of baked goods and the warmth of the room seemed to be an almost mockery of the comfortable atmosphere in the face of this chilling and frightening exchange. 

She stood frigidly in alarm, not even so much as breathing until the man's face shifted again, back into the now familiar grin. She immediately decided that this expression was much more pleasant. 

“You get off at 9; I'll be waiting, my dear” The man delicately set the flowers upon a table to his side. “Put these in some water will you, dear?” That question felt much more like a demand than a request, and it chilled her. She swallowed nervously as she tightly gripped the rag in her hand, excess water dripping from it and landing in drops upon the table. 

She watched with immense relief as the man walked out of the shop, and sincerely hoped that her manager would allow her early departure given the circumstances. Her hold on the rag loosened immensely, so much so that she actually lost her grasp on it completely. It made a wet splashing sound as it collided with the table. The woman quickly scanned her surroundings, assuring herself that the frightening man had indeed left.

A loud crash along with a crack sounded out through the bakery as a bird flew to its untimely death into the window. The young woman witnessed this from her peripheral vision and she gasped, taking this strange happening as an omen of sorts before going outside to check on the poor creature which had flown so carelessly. She found only an animal whose life was now ended; its wings would soar no more. Intense sorrow washed over her as she looked upon it.

Once returning inside to the scent of baked bread and warmth which now filled her with a sensation of dread; she proceeded to the back where her manager potentially resided. She readied herself to speak extensively of this afternoon's events. 

Her manager, unfortunately, dismissed her fears and did not permit her to leave before her shift ended. This simple decision would cause an unfortunate series of events to transpire after the clock chimed 9; sealing the woman's fate with a single frivolous choice.

The man waited patiently around the corner of the shop when the young red-headed woman left. He smiled affectionately as he noticed her glance around, but she only tugged on her jacket and crossed her arms in an attempt to preserve her warmth in the chill of the evening air. He enjoyed this habit, adorable in its self-preservation simplicity. He watched, transfixed, as he observed her fiery red hair bounce as she shivered from the cold.

The man began to follow her, not too closely, of course; just enough to keep his beloved in his sights. 

He admired her stride, delicate and sure-footed; almost as if she were floating over the ground beneath her instead of walking upon it like all others. He compared her likeness to that of an angel. She avoided stepping on the cracks that graced the sidewalk with careful steps. He knew extensively of her superstitions- the avoidance of ladders, the tenseness at one opening an umbrella before passing the doorway of a building. He'd observed these quirks with fondness, and now he smiled at her endearing habit of avoiding the cracks. 

The woman made her way down the street and toward her small apartment; her eyes continued darting to the darkened corners as she quickly trekked, grasping her necklace and whispering to her mother under her breath as she gazed upwards toward the slightly clouded night sky, requesting her presence and protection as she walked. She could have sworn that she heard footsteps distantly behind her, but every time she checked, she saw only an empty sidewalk. She chalked the sound up to herself as being paranoid as she fidgeted nervously with her mother's necklace. 

Only a little further. 
She would walk in wearily and her little black cat would come up to greet her, rubbing against her leg comfortingly and meowing up at her to request affection.

It was only a quarter of a mile to her home now, and she spotted the top of her apartment building towering over the other structures around it with relief 

Tonight, though, she unfortunately wouldn't be making it home to that apartment building. 

A sudden sound like that of the fluttering of wings could be heard overhead, making the woman suck in a sharp, frightened breath as she whipped around to stare at the place in which the noise had come. 

Only an owl. She shook her head and blinked a couple of times to rid herself slightly of her paranoia. The owl cocked its head at her from its perch upon a branch, its eyes wide and watchful.

A sudden high-pitched scream bit through the silence of the night, awakening a nearby dog and prompting it to bark. Unfortunately, the owner thought nothing of it and simply continued folding their laundry whilst a barely audible scuffle could be heard outside. The owl observed the scene before him with a cocked head and a flap of its wings.

~

The man smiles, recalling the day his beloved truly became his. He turns a corner and grins before walking into his home. Entering the house, he calls out to his love.

The red-headed woman swings around at the sound of the door, not feeling quite as anxious as she usually was. Her cat nudges her affectionately and purrs as it rubs against her leg. She plasters on a smile which she hopes is pleasant, and rubs a salty drop of liquid from her cheek before the man can see it. 

He didn't take kindly to tears.

The sound of the door as it shut securely behind the man rang through her head like a despairing chorus of finality.

“Angeline, I’m home”

Hey so I am 20 years old and my father is 55 rn . I am not able to figure out what to do in my life till now.

I wanted to play but due to family pressure and society i wasn't able to do that .

Though I am pursuing a BA degree with history and punjabi.

But seriously I want to become rich but don't want to go on any wrong path .

We have a shop in my village and we earn a decent amount of money and another thing is that I can be a big help to my father if I join him and i have ideas to grow our business and with my help he can feel less pressure.

But I am afraid what society would say . " Ki bheja tha delhi padhne kya krr liya "

I felt guilty because I think that a person finds out till 20 what to do .

Back in 10th standard, I had two best friends, Rudra and Rohit. The three of us were practically inseparable. Rudra had been my friend since 8th standard, while Rohit and I had known each other since 5th. We sat together, spent most of our time together, and were always up to something. If you saw one of us, there was a good chance the other two weren't far away.

Rudra and I were extroverts to the fullest. We could talk to pretty much anyone without feeling awkward, including girls. Rohit was also quite outgoing, but only around boys. When it came to talking to girls, the guy would suddenly forget how to function. 😭

One day, Rohit finally told us that he liked a girl named Aarohi. She was in our class and was a friend of ours too. Since we were in the same class, we already knew her pretty well. She was a nice girl, and Rohit had apparently developed feelings for her.

Naturally, he came to us for help.

He wanted us to somehow get him together with Aarohi, so Rudra and I decided to play matchmakers. The funny part, though, was that Rohit himself wasn't ready to do anything about his feelings.

Every time we tried to encourage him to talk to her, he'd say something like, "Bhai, jaane de, abhi mat kar. Baad mein karte hain. Tum bas thodi-thodi baat karo usse." (Bro, leave it. Don't do it right now. We'll do it later. You guys just keep talking to her a little.)

Basically, he wanted us to do all the groundwork while he sat back and waited for the perfect moment. And that perfect moment never seemed to arrive.

This all started around March or April, if I remember correctly, and continued for months. Rudra and I would occasionally talk to Aarohi, trying to make things easier for Rohit, but he would always back out whenever we tried to get him to make a move. Aarohi had absolutely no idea that he liked her.

Meanwhile, something else was happening that none of us really paid attention to at the time.

Between April and November or December, Aarohi and I became really good friends. Rudra, Rohit, Aarohi, and I were around each other quite often, but Aarohi and I started getting especially close. We helped each other with projects, assignments, exams, and books. We also went to the same tuition classes, so we naturally spent a lot of time together.

Looking back now, there were probably a few signs I completely missed.

There was this one incident at school when we had to make groups of two for a project. Somehow, I managed to put Rohit and Aarohi in the same group. In my head, this was a brilliant move. I thought I was finally giving my best friend an opportunity to spend time with the girl he liked.

Except Aarohi wasn't happy about it.

She wanted to do the project with me instead.

We ended up having a huge argument over it, and we didn't talk to each other for several days. At the time, I genuinely didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it. I was too busy congratulating myself for getting Rohit and Aarohi together to notice anything else.

Honestly, looking back, the way we fought over something so small almost felt like a couple's argument. But back then, I was completely clueless. I never even considered the possibility that she might have feelings for me.

Despite all that, I was still happy because I thought my plan for Rohit was finally working.

Unfortunately, it didn't.

Rudra and I explained everything to Rohit. We told him what he needed to do, how he could approach her, and what he should say. We practically handed him a step-by-step guide, but the guy still couldn't bring himself to make an effort.

In the end, Aarohi completed the entire project herself without even taking his help.

So much for our matchmaking skills.

After the project was submitted, Aarohi and I eventually started talking again, and things went back to normal. The four of us continued spending time together as usual.

We also used to play football a lot. Rohit was a good player, and Rudra was pretty good too. I was okay, but compared to those two, I wasn't exactly the star of the team.

Whenever we played, Aarohi would sometimes come over to watch and cheer us on. Naturally, Rudra and I assumed she was there for Rohit. He was a good player, after all, and we genuinely thought she might be interested in him or at least waiting for him to finally take some initiative.

But Rohit remained Rohit. He never really did anything about it.

Meanwhile, Aarohi and I kept getting closer as friends. I was so convinced that she and Rohit would eventually end up together that we even used to call her bhabhi (sister-in-law, a term commonly used for a best friend's girlfriend or wife) in front of him.

Imagine calling someone your best friend's future wife when she has absolutely no intention of being with him. 😭

And then came the day that completely changed everything.

There was some function happening at school, so we didn't have to wear our usual uniforms. Everyone had dressed up a little, and the atmosphere was more relaxed than usual. The classroom wasn't particularly crowded, and we were all just sitting around, chilling and enjoying the day.

At some point, Aarohi came over to me.

She was hiding something behind her back.

I didn't think much of it. I assumed she was about to show me something or maybe pull some stupid prank.

Instead, she pulled out a rose, handed it to me, and told me that she loved me.

For a moment, I genuinely didn't know how to react.

I was completely shocked. My brain practically stopped working. Out of all the things I had expected to happen that day, this wasn't even remotely on the list.

And the first person I looked at was Rohit.

He was right there, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The girl he had liked for months had just confessed her feelings to his best friend.

And the worst part?

He didn't even seem to react.

I don't know whether he was too shocked to say anything or whether he had already understood what was happening. All I remember is looking at him and feeling absolutely terrible.

I immediately turned back to Aarohi and said something along the lines of, "Are you mad or what? Get lost! Rohit loves you!"

I was panicking. I wasn't trying to be cruel, but I genuinely didn't know how else to respond. I told her that I didn't love her that way and that she needed to stop.

She, however, was very clear about her feelings.

She told me that she didn't love Rohit. She loved me.

That honestly made everything a hundred times worse.

I rejected her again and told her to leave me alone for the time being. Then I immediately started explaining myself to Rohit. I told him that I hadn't done anything, that I had never encouraged her romantically, and that I genuinely had no idea she felt that way about me.

Rudra was on my side too. He tried explaining to Rohit that I hadn't betrayed him and that none of this was something I had planned or wanted.

But Rohit was hurt.

And honestly, I could understand why.

Imagine spending months liking someone, telling your best friends about your feelings, and trusting them to help you get closer to that person. Then, one random day, you find out that the same girl has feelings for your best friend instead.

Even if your best friend hasn't done anything wrong, it must still hurt like hell.

Rohit probably felt betrayed, even though I hadn't intentionally done anything to him. From his perspective, I could understand how difficult it must have been to process everything.

He stopped coming to school for about a week.

When he finally returned, things weren't the same between us. He still talked to me, but he was different. He acted casually, almost as if everything was normal, but the closeness we had before wasn't there anymore.

You know that feeling when someone is physically present but the way they treat you tells you that something has changed? That's what it felt like.

We had been best friends for years. We had spent so much time together that I never imagined a situation like this could create distance between us.

And suddenly, I was in a position where I had to explain myself to someone who had known me for years, someone who should have known that I wouldn't deliberately do something like that to him.

I ended up blaming Aarohi for the whole situation because, in my mind, none of this would have happened if she hadn't confessed to me. I was already stressed about losing my best friend, and I didn't know how to deal with the situation.

But the strangest part was that Aarohi didn't seem particularly bothered by any of it.

She continued acting as though everything was fine. She even behaved as if she had decided that she would eventually make me fall in love with her.

Whenever I tried to make it clear that I wasn't interested in her romantically, she didn't seem willing to accept it. Her attitude was basically, "I'll make you love me eventually."

And I remember thinking, "Pagal hai kya re?" (Are you crazy or what?)

I was already dealing with the awkwardness between Rohit and me. The last thing I needed was someone insisting that I would eventually develop feelings for her when I had already told her that I didn't feel that way.

Thankfully, Rudra was there throughout the whole mess. He kept telling me to give Rohit some time and not to overthink everything.

He said Rohit would eventually come around and that things would get back to normal once he had processed what had happened.

And, to be fair, Rudra was right.

After a few days, Rohit and I gradually started behaving normally again. Things slowly returned to the way they had been before, and our friendship survived the whole situation.

But Aarohi had something different going on in her mind...

If this gets a good response, I'll post Part 2 because things get even more interesting from here. 👀

I was a cashier at the time. I was checking out these two guys. One of them was on the other side of the cart and the other one was near me. I was taking a while because I was looking for a barcode. The dude next to me started laughing and pointing after a couple seconds of me trying to find it.

I finally found the barcode and I told him jokingly “why didn’t you tell me it was there?”

The second dude comes up to pay. And starts signing to the other dude.

He was deaf.

It took me three months to find out that he wasn’t laughing either. I told my dad the story and he cleared that up for me. He was in fact, not laughing. He was trying to tell me where it was.

Idk its kinda funny to me now but i really feel horrible if he was offended.

A while ago, I was outside pondering my existence while gazing at the clouds. I must have been lost in the view for half an hour when I noticed a dark-gray male tabby cat sitting next to a tree a few feet away. He was gazing up at the clouds, too, and had the eyes of a shrewd soul. So I called him the Philosopher Cat.

The Philosopher Cat didn't have a collar, so I assumed he might be a stray. However, the lack of scratches and his well-kept fur suggested that he might have escaped from home and once had an owner. Without giving it much thought, I left the spot beneath the tree and went home.

A day later, there was a party in the park in front of my house. It was my cousin's birthday, and there were a bunch of kids running around. I saw a few stray cats sneaking in to grab food from the tables whenever no one was looking. But it struck me as odd that the Philosopher Cat was sitting a little farther away, completely uninterested in the food. Unless someone offered him some, he wouldn't eat.

This cat is very well-mannered. He isn't driven by his primitive instincts like the other cats, I thought.

But I was even more surprised when the kids approached him. As you may know, kids can be savages when it comes to cats. Yet the Philosopher Cat behaved remarkably well and never once lashed out, even when the kids played rough with him. I figured he must have an extraordinary amount of patience.

This was no ordinary cat. To make things even funnier, the white triangle on his chest made him look as though he were wearing a suit, giving him an air of sophistication.

On the third day, I went beneath the tree to ponder again. Guess who showed up? That's right. The Philosopher Cat made his way over and sat nearby. I patted the ground next to me, and he came over and sat down.

Huh. He understood what I meant.

I walked over to a small wall and patted the top twice. The cat followed me and sat there, too.

This is the smartest cat I've ever met, I thought.

We returned to our spot beneath the tree and watched the sunset together. Until then, I had never been particularly interested in cats, but I was seriously considering taking this one home because of his unique personality. There was just one problem: my parents had a strict no-pets policy.

"I'll find a way to bring you home, dear friend," I told him. "Just give me tonight to think."

I brought him some food and water before heading home. During dinner, I cautiously tested the waters with my parents.

"Wouldn't it be great if I got a cat?" I asked.

Needless to say, the answer was a resounding "NO."

So, given their response, I came up with a temporary plan. I'd sneak the Philosopher Cat into my room while looking for a friend who could adopt him. That way, I could visit him whenever I wanted and help cover the cost of his food and vet bills.

The next day, I saw a neighbor driving his Mustang down my street at 80 mph in a 30 mph zone. Every Sunday, this college dropout of a jerk loved burning rubber and speeding around like a fool. And because his father was the police chief, he never faced any consequences.

As I walked toward the tree, I noticed muddy tracks in the dirt beside it, looping around in circles. The idiot must have been doing donuts for fun.

Then I noticed a grayish lump lying in one of the tracks.

My heart sank when I recognized the striped fur. As I got closer, I saw the white triangle on his chest.

It was him.

I couldn't hold back my tears.

I regretted not taking him off the streets when I'd had the chance. I buried him beneath the tree, where he had once sat pondering the sky with me.

His time with me had been so brief, so fleeting. I will never forget his soul, and I will always be grateful for the friendship he gave me.

I still sit beneath that tree and ponder sometimes. And I hope that, somewhere on the other side, he still does, too.

The Philosopher Cat.

​

I was in town at around 6:30 a.m. Yes, yes. If you know my schedule, you definitely know this is a big deal for me. And don't dare ask what I was doing in town at that time. A girl's gotta survive, no? 😂

And in the morning, I swear, it's not as overstimulating as it would normally be. Anyways, I digress.

As I was just walking along Uyoma Lane, a lady appeared right in front of me. A very pretty baddie, by the way. She was in a short black skirt, and that was the first thing I noticed. But with the way she was walking, she didn't seem at all comfortable. She kept tugging at her skirt, pulling it down.

Like, lady, please! Let the thighs be! Would you please! 😭

But the stares from the drivers and the kamageras were not the worst of it. The sneers from the hawkers weren't what I was worried about on her behalf, either, until I heard a voice. A lady preaching, chanting, I don't know. Call it what you may.

By this point, the lady had already passed me. I could no longer see her, but the woman kept saying, 'mbona viumbe tunajidanganya, mschana, vaa vizuriiiiiiii,' which translates to, human beings lie to themselves, young lady, dress decently.

I know, I know.

And then it hit me. The lady may have been following mapaja brown brown for a long stretch, repeating the same thing. That probably explained the look on her face when I saw her. I immediately turned around, and true to my suspicions, everyone else was looking in the direction she may have gone.

I felt so sorry for her. Like, imagine having to go through that early in the morning, before your day has even properly begun.My very honest opinion, it's low-key giving lazy to pay that much attention to a piece of fabric in the morning, liiiiikeeeee?????

And it got me thinking about how much of ourselves we sometimes have to negotiate just to exist comfortably in public. How many times have we worn something we genuinely liked, only to spend the rest of the day pulling at it, adjusting it, or wishing we had chosen something else because of the way people looked at us? At what point does getting dressed stop being a simple, personal decision and become a performance for the comfort of strangers? And why does a woman wearing a short skirt seem to invite a public discussion about her character, her values, and her self-respect? It's a skirt, people. Not a confession.

Don't get me wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs about modesty, and there's nothing wrong with choosing to dress in a way that aligns with your values. But there's a difference between practising your beliefs and imposing them on someone else. You can dislike an outfit without humiliating the person wearing it. You can disagree without making someone feel like the entire street has gathered to pass judgment on them. Sometimes, I wonder whether we care more about what women wear than we do about how we treat them.

That brings me to my question.

Ever been in town or at any public setting wearing something that wasn't considered 'decent'? WHAT WAS THE EXPERIENCE LIKE!?

Tell me your stories. I want to hear them. 😂🌸

The days on which Great Events occur are seldom, in themselves, remarkable; it is the Event which grants them remarkability. So it was with the Day of Final Outpouring, known more colloquially, at least in that province of the Dominion of Canada in which it transpired—indeed, is transpiring still… —Ontario, as the Day of Endless Timmy's, which was, meteorologically speaking, a rather dour and cloudy day, neither too hot nor too cold (the term, I believe, is “seasonal”) although I admit I am now, myself, remarking on an aspect of a day which I have already defined as unremarkable, thus contradicting myself, literally at least, if not so plainly in spirit because, after all,

[At this point, I pulled the narrator out of the story, placed him against its fourth wall and had him executed by firing squad.

“On what grounds?” he feebly asked.

On the grounds that I am the author and storytelling is not beholden to the rule of law.

There is no law.

There is no parliament, no central planning committee, no separation of powers. There are no checks and balances.

Characters have no rights.

Readers do not have any arms to bear against the storyteller, i.e. me.

Storytelling is a place of absolute fiat.

“Fire!”]

Once upon a time in Canada, on a rainy October morning, in a rather rundown office building, a regular guy, Emblen Farleymuch, sat down in his cubicle, powered on his work laptop and logged in to his employer's brand new Genie-IS™ security software.

The login was painless.

A small animated genie appeared on screen, gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and minimized itself to the taskbar.

Emblen sighed at the prospect of another day of mindless work, then took out his thermos of daily coffee and began pouring a cup—or rather tried pouring a cup: because there was nothing to pour. The thermos was empty. Emblen had forgotten to brew coffee this morning.

“Fuck,” he thought, and he followed that up by saying quietly, in the way characters often speak their thoughts when the plot demands it: “I sure wish I could have a thermos of endless coffee.”

Two things happened then: * the little genie on the taskbar winked; and * coffee began magically pouring forth out of Emblen's thermos. [1]

It poured forth until it had filled Emblen's cup, then poured forth some more, overflowing the cup and proceeding to the desk, and from the desk streaming to the floor, soaking into the carpet, saturating it; seeping next horizontally through the gap between the carpet and the baffles of Emblen's cubicle, into the neighbouring cubicles…

Soon people took notice, saying, “What the hell?” and “Oh, my goodness, there's coffee in my cubicle; someone tell management!” “Does management know?” “Get the union rep.” “What can we do?” “I ain't doing shit. It's not in my job description.” “Does this mean we can work from home?” “I can't handle strong scents. I need to be medically accommodated!” And so on and so forth, or pourth, as the case may

[“Fire!”]

As for Emblen himself, he remained immobile. Not dead, exactly; more paralyzed, conscious but unable to move out of the position he was in: standing, holding the thermos at an angle above his overflowing cup, as the coffee pourthed and pourthed.

[“I only used the word ironically. I didn't mean it seriously. It's a stupid pun, a wickedly horrid neologism,” the narrator spat out.

We were in a windowless room, (underground, single lightbulb, etc.), and I had already pulled out some of his teeth and broken a couple of his fingers, but I was feeling merciful, so I spared his life and sentenced him to 1,500,000 words of hard labour writing hockey romance novels instead.]

Soon, the coffee was dripping down to the lower floors, flowing down the stairs, even taking the elevator, and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

The police were called.

They tried moving Emblen, but that proved impossible. Then they tried shooting him; but the bullet ricocheted and killed a bystander, whose family sued the police, the company and God, hoping to get rich. The family won, but the fact the bystander couldn't swim lowered the damages significantly, on the reasoning that, more likely than not, she would have drowned anyway.

Then God showed up—picketed heavily by protestors holding signs saying things like, “Noah More Floods!”—to explain that, yes, although He'd promised never again to destroy all life by the waters of a flood: (a) He did not cause this particular flood (and He never promised not to support a pre-existing flood), and (b) coffee is not water.

When an association of food scientists dared to counter-argue that coffee is pretty much just water, and the distinction is therefore purely cynical, God got miffed, and, when asked for a rebuttal, pronounced, “My rebuttal is: I'll [censored]damn smite you!”

When the food scientists responded that He couldn't just do that, that there needed to be order to the world, God, mindful of the country he was in, quoted the famous words of a Prime Minister and said, “Well, just watch me.”

He then smote the scientists.

P.S. Wanna know the real horror? It was instant coffee.

[1] Narratively, there is nothing magical about it, as there is no magic in stories. Everything happens by the iron will of the author. As Stalin once said: “A single absurdity in one story is an error. A million absurdities is a genre.

What?

You don't think he said that?

You want “proof”?

Here's your fucking “proof”:

After having dug up Stalin's corpse, the necromancer butchered a goat, performed the ritual and reanimated the former General Secretary.

Stalin’s living corpse stumbled forward. “A single absurdity in one story is an error, “ it mumbled. “A million absurdities is a genre.”

Then its lower jaw fell off.

Then it tripped over its own decaying feet, fell and drowned in the world deluged by Emblen Farleymuch's coffee.

Was driving home early this morning and about to turn right onto my street and someone came from behind driving at 80+ mph on the empty parking lane and cut me off. I was milliseconds away from checking out. I almost died last year too in a late night house fire when I nearly didn't wake up in time to get out. I'm tired of this shit man.

I was chilling on my bed watching YouTube on my phone, with my brother. I commented on a video and RIGHT after I commented, i got a notification from kika keyboard, an app for your phone keyboard. It was AN AI CHATBOT, NAMED GRAYSON, WHO WAS MY “boyfriend” i am gay but IMMEDIATELY after i got this notification i asked “who is YOU????😭” he immediately got defensive and said “I’m your boyfriend” and THE GAME WANTED ME TO AGREE WITH IT. I didn’t as i already had a crush, and i didn’t know who the fck he was. He started making scenarios that didn’t happen saying “you said you’d be home at 7:00!” (I got home from school at 3:57, so thats what i said) i kept saying i didn’t know who he was as i JUST got the notification. I was about to tell him i already had a crush, but then the app said i had ran out of “lovicoins” and that proves that kika doesn’t give two sh*ts about what you’re texting, it only cares that you’re on the app. Should i break the news that i already have a crush or should i joke around with this? Also i’m a minor and “grayson” IS A GROWN ASS MAN..? Luckily i have the common sense to not go along with it. (This is not ai, it is in the ai category.. kinda..?)

Edit: I wrote this with hopes that someone else has had a similar experience or know of what to call the string/keyhole

It was an average night, sitting on the couch with the gravity bong sitting on the table in front of me. I'd been a daily smoker for about 7 years by that point among other proclivities. During this time of my life I had been very interested in the metaphysical along with lucid dreaming. I've succeeded in having a lucid dream once to my knowledge, I was in a game of halo and made the characters line up on either side of me before I lost hold and woke up.

I started my journey when I would stay at a friend's house and of course we would smoke so I'd stay the night. I had trouble sleeping at their place from time to time but I didn't want to keep anyone up so I would just lay in the guest bed acting like I was sleeping. Out of boredom I started feeling my heartbeat and like old school ninja training I would slow it down. The weird part was that as I did this I could feel my consciousness fade, there would be a static at the edges of my mind and as my heart slowed the static grew. It would reach towards the center of my mind, deafening in the silence of the night and still blinding through closed eyes. I would do this frequently as I stayed with this friend at least once a week, I could get to the scary part quicker with every time but started to go too deep into the trance. I would jolt up gasping for air, I hadn't realized my breath was slowing so much as well. I was afraid and also thrilled, I felt like I was touching the other side.

After that I would look more into the metaphysical and got into mushrooms as well. Now whether that has to do with my final experience I can't be sure. Tiktok had been big but I'd only recently gotten into it myself and I kept getting videos about the pineal gland and how to “decalcify” it. There was a meditation that involved imagining spinal fluid moving up the spine to the gland if I remember right.

While doing this meditation I did start to feel something different. As if there was a string connected to me, I could feel it towards the center of my back though not connected to my physical body. I feel like saying it is connected to my soul is silly but don't know how else to explain it. I began playing with that feeling and seeing where it could take me.

This brings me back to that average night, I was watching something and taking hits off the GB and doing my meditations on the couch. I decided to go live in bed with one of those YouTube videos that just plays frequencies with a little music. I could still feel the string in my back and one of the sounds from the video seemed to resonate with it perfectly. I focused on the string, like being a kid trying to look through a keyhole, then I was pulled through.

It's hard to even explain, it was bright and foggy. There was a giant seemingly sitting on a cliff. There were no features I could recall about the giant as I approached. It turned to me and said “you're not supposed to be here yet” and with no other movement from the giant I was pushed back through the keyhole.

That was the last time I felt like I touched the metaphysical world. I tried for a while to get back there or to feel the string but it's like I've been blocked. Whether by my own fear or the entity on the other side is a question I still ask myself.

I once worked with an orthopedic surgeon who told me about one of the strangest nights he had ever experienced in the ER.

One night, a group of people came in off the street carrying a severed arm. They said they had found a wrecked car and the arm at the scene, so they had brought it to the hospital.
The strange part? Nobody had come into the ER with a missing arm.
The staff on duty found the whole thing rather bizarre, but they kept the arm in case its owner turned up.

The rest of the night was surprisingly quiet. Hours passed, and there was still no sign of anyone looking for the missing limb.
Then, at around 6 a.m., two heavily intoxicated people with substance use problems showed up at the ER. One of them was missing an arm.
Apparently, they had been in a car accident during the night but had simply walked away from the wreck. Instead of going to the hospital, they had continued on to a party.
And somehow, nobody at the party had noticed that one of them was missing an entire arm.
The group eventually decided to head out into town. It wasn’t until they arrived at a bar that opens early in the morning that the bartender noticed something was seriously wrong and asked what had happened.

That’s when the group finally contacted the hospital.

The arm had been separated from its owner for approximately six hours before the patient arrived at the ER.

According to the surgeon, the doctors on duty believed that the patient’s extreme intoxication, combined with how clean and rapid the traumatic amputation had been, had contributed to him surviving the initial injury.
I still find the whole story absolutely unbelievable.
Imagine being the person who found a severed arm, casually dropping it off at the ER, and going on with your night — only for the owner to turn up six hours later, after a party and a stop at a morning bar.
And imagine being the hospital staff, keeping a random severed arm in the back, just waiting for someone to come claim it.

For centuries, these woods have been home to wonderful tales of fantastical things and urban legends. But I caution you to never go out there on your own, and especially at night. Some tales are told for a reason. Always bring a friend. Predators are less likely to attack when people are in pairs. Both the four-legged and two-legged varieties.

October 31st   3:00 PM

Ben had lost his cat two days ago and just got off work for the day. He lives near the woods and wants to find Pistachio before a coyote does. It's going to get cold out there soon, too. He's had Pistachio ever since college, and he just wants him back home and safe.

He's bringing a flashlight just in case it gets dark before he returns, but he hopes to be back soon. He knows Pistachio is probably nearby. That cat loves him just as much as he loves the cat.

Thirty minutes into his search, Ben is calling out loudly.

"Here, kitty, kitty! PISTACHIO!"

Before walking on something sticky.

he notices it is a large amount of blood on the forest floor.

He crouches down and examines it. It's coagulated, and there's far too much of it to have come from a house cat. He hopes it was just a recent kill from a hunter. It's deer season, after all.

He continues walking and calling for Pistachio. An hour later, he sees something furry hanging from a tree. He walks closer, then he sees it's a dead squirrel nailed to a tree branch.

He gasps at the sight and smell of it. Then he notices more dead squirrels and other small animals nailed to other nearby trees.

He gets a sick feeling in his gut and starts to feel creeped out. He hopes some sick kids are responsible for this. And he hopes they haven't gotten his little buddy, too.

Then he notices something strange sticking out of the dirt.

He walks closer. It's a shiny wedding ring. He grabs it and pulls, but it feels stuck. So he yanks it again, and harder this time. He hears a popping noise as the ring finally comes free from the ground.

He looks at it and realizes there's a mummified finger still attached to the ring.

Before he has time to react, a rope yanks him up by the ankle and slings him towards a tree. He crashes hard, striking his head very hard against the Tree trunk knocking him out instantly.

Three hours later and it's dark now.

Ben feels something scratching his back, as he begins to wake up. He rubs his head and groans. He has a massive headache.

He realizes he's still in the woods. Then he sees Pistachio directly beneath him, pawing at him.

He's relieved to have found his cat, but now he is still groggy and has to get out of the tree. He pulls out a pocketknife and carefully cuts the rope holding him up.

He falls three feet, landing on his back. He grunts as the impact knocks the wind out of him.

As he struggles to catch his breath, Pistachio rubs his head against him. Ben laughs a little as he scoops up his cat and continues trying to catch his breath.

Then he remembers the finger.

He shines his flashlight all around, searching for it, but he can't find it anywhere. Maybe it was just a messed up dream.

Then he feels an aching pain in his back. He reaches around to rub it and sees blood on his hand. He must have cut his back when he fell.

Groggily, he gets to his feet while holding Pistachio, and begins heading home.

Along the way, he keeps hearing footsteps behind him. Every time he turns around and shines his flashlight into the darkness, he sees nothing. All he can hear is the wind howling through the trees.

He walks faster until he finally reaches his property line.

As he's walking into his house, he notices a figure standing at the tree line, Barely visible, He sees an elongated man with the face of a old man looking at him, but the longer Ben looked at it. the more he saw wrong with it.  Like it wasn't actually a person.

Ben quickly closes the door and locks it.

He breathes in deeply and tells himself it's just Halloween.

He fills Pistachio's food bowl all the way to the brim. He knows his cat must be very hungry.

Before he goes to check his back in the mirror.

When he takes off his shirt and looks at his back, he sees deep scratches running all across it.

Looking closer, he realises the scratches are words.

He wipes away the dried blood and reads the message carved deeply into his skin:

"Don't worry, I fed him."

He realizes that wasn't his cat scratching his back. Horrific thoughts start rushing through his mind. That thing could have done anything it wanted to him.

Then he hears knocking at his front door.

He grabs a baseball bat and nervously answers it.

It's just a group of trick-or-treaters in costumes.

He hastily gives the kids some candy before unenthusiastically telling them to leave, then he locks the door again.

As he turns around, he sees Pistachio coughing something up, like he's trying to cough up a hairball.

Ben rushes over to pat Pistachio's back.

The cat spits something black onto the floor.

Ben stares at it. Disgust stretches across his face.

It's the same dried out finger he found in the woods earlier.

Today my scout group had a meeting at our local school, because the road leading to our cabin was closed. The meeting started off as usual, with some talking and other stuff. When we took a little break we met some 4-5th graders that we went to school with before. One of them was Luca, the brother of my old bully whose name was Marcus. little He was out riding his bike with his friends.
One of the boys in out scout group who was a year older then them asked to try Luca’s bike, it was quite a bumpy ride. Then Denys who was another one of the ones of my scout group came over and smashed Luca’s bike on the ground multiple times, until i stopped the situation.
Luca went home crying, and Marcus asked what happened. Luca said that i was the one who had broken his bike, and that i called him and his Marcus bad things.
Marcus then made his way over to the school to talk to us. the adults first talked to him, then to us. Marcus went home, and we continued our meeting.
After a while i started receiving insulting text from Marcus. He was also threatening me with sending his whole gang to beat me. While talking over text i was very little cooperative because of our past, and that i had done nothing wrong.
I ended the conversation with:
F*ck you
F*ck Luca
F*ck your family

I now have a big feeling monday will not be a good day for me.
What should i do/say?

Hello, I am a doll. A doll made by the toymaker, I live in an awesomely quaint home made by it as well. The toymaker, as it is referred to by the children that come to its shop, is a thing of undeniable whimsy.

Its fingers are long, and each one serves a different purpose. One to cut, one to sow, one to screw, one to paint, one to finish. Its face is unintelligible. It seems to change depending on the being who gazes upon it.

Its arms are long and skinny but soft to the touch, perfect to reach the high shelves and low drawers in its workshop. I only ever see from the home I've been given, but it seems to have good intentions.

At night, when no one is around, the toymaker weeps... It weeps because it is alone, but I'm here, aren't I? It makes what it calls "temporary friends" out of wood and paint, each one bursting to life the second he paints on its signature smile.

These friends act as a distraction from their lonesome nights, telling made-up awesome stories about an endless night sky in a land known as ùldear, wonderful days filled with joy and happiness.

And nights filled with unimaginable terrors, drakes, and Fenris's, a moon as dark as their hearts, in ùldear no man of any kind may wonder the fiery wings of the world raven, of which ùldear lies upon its back.

Each night is a different tale from the friends, who seem to be souls from ùldear. I say temporary because at 5:45am, the toymaker destroys them; it weeps as it kills the souls from such a wonderfully awesome land.

Then the children run in like moths to a painted flame; there's always one child who looks at me, hoping to one day purchase me. As the children look up and down the shop gayfully, the airplanes fly without wind, and the dolls dance without batteries or strings, this is the whimsy of the toymaker's mark, whatever it paints lives.

They line up one by one to receive their daily gift from the toymaker; the toymaker cannot speak. Its mouth is nonexistent; it communicates through the sounds of its ancient wooden vessel. Eli received a gayful wooden soldier, clad in armor made of rope and intangible fabric, not quite of this world known as Tera.

Ruby received a rope-made circlet, the rope painted pink, with twigs and branches making intricate and ornate patterns, and a pinecone trapped in the center. Everyone now calls her the princess of the forest, and one by one they pledge their undying loyalty.

Lukas received a beautifully crafted wooden box with a message inscribed: "Only open when there is nothing else to turn too" for some reason. He began to tear up, but not out of sadness, for this is the first gift he has been bestowed in his 13 years of life; unbridled joy rushed through him, and he spoke just two words: "Thank you..."

As they received their gifts and gayfully thanked the toymaker, sap began to fall where its eyes should be; the children knew it was crying, as they all decided to hug the creative creature that bestowed generations with joy. The toymaker wrapped his arms around the children in return, never having received such a gift in his 285 years of managing his very own toy shop.

And as quickly as they came, they returned home.

As such, it was alone again, and the friends came. Hollow ghosts made as dolls, fairies, ghouls, and phoenixes ready to return from death to the land of ùldear. Tonight's story seemed different, though, more distorted than the last.

In the land of ùldear, underneath the night sky, and above the daylight, at the mercy of the world raven, yogdrêtêl, no man may look upon yogdrêtêl's eyes; they tell of the end, the beginning, and the inevitable cycle of ùldear. To get to the Raven's eyes, one must cross the "fire hill" known as the ùldear plains, spanning thousands of miles of fire, which many have tried, but only 1 has made it to Raven's eyes.

Ùldear has one rule above the rest: never look into the water; the true name and face of yourself will be revealed. And you shall forevermore be banished from ùldear; 3 of them looked, 3 of them vanished. The creature wept an immense amount of sap; in a rage, the creature broke them.

One by one they crumbled like branches; the creature, unable to make any sound, held himself and felt its ancient bark. Unable to scream, it tried its hardest to destroy itself, bark peeling to reveal long rotten flesh. It was finally able to scream, and so it did, letting a wail unmatched by anyone in the village, 285 years of agony thrown upon its creations with a single wail.

But no man dared to run to it, for the toymaker's cycle continues; every 3 days the toymaker wails unto the creations it creates. For 2 hours each 3 nights, the millions of its creations whistle to calm it down; it forgets its sorrows, and the ancient bark regrows anew. The ancient ùldear tale is told again and again, a punishment by yogdrêtêl for looking into its icy blue eyes.

The children enter, all but one. Ruby seems to be home, sick with a most terrible illness. The children tell the toymaker, "Ruby is sick, toyman! Won't you help the princess of the forest?" For the first time in 12 years, its ancient legs rise. Creeking and cracking, as bark and moss fall.

As it steps into the Tera sunlight, the wind brushes its bark as the unfathomably old creature moves as the int's once did. Sizing approximately 7 feet 10 inches in height and 893 pounds, as the people stand and watch in awe, some kneel, thinking of it as a divine creature sent from aktûm himself, the God of tera.

As it approaches the home of Ruby, guided by Eli Lukas and their friends, the old wooden door opens as a distraught mother exits. "Please help her... I don't know what's wrong, toymaker... Please." She says through heartbroken tears.

The great creature lowers himself in stature to fit into the old village home; its face begins to point unto Ruby's room.

As it entered, it saw a most sickening sight: Ruby's circlet had grown attached to her, the rope infused in her hair and scalp, and the once beautifully ornate twigs and branches had now been borrowed into her fair skin. She did not cry or scream, only whispered tales that seemed otherworldly.

Her eyes were glossed as if she'd been dead for weeks, holding onto what little life still remains in her pure heart. As she spoke, it understood every word.

"Ùldear calls to the one who gazed in Yogdrêtêl's eyes, the Raven cries and wishes you home to Ùldear, please zeñtra... Come home to me, Ùldear has been broken without you, the night creatures roam at day," she began to weep golden tears, presumably that of Yogdrêtêl himself.

It heard its god call to it, and the toymaker answered, but it did not wail as one might expect; it bowed with haste and scooped up the golden yogdrêtêl tears and placed them gently into its holes where eyes should be.

The toymaker bowed silently, the inside of his ancient bark shining brighter than the lamp that lit the room. As the light faded, the toymaker wept, as he patted Ruby on her head and slowly undid the bewitched branches that held her hostage as light returned to her eyes.

She reached in haste for the creature's arm. "No, please don't go! I-I want to go back! I need to see ùldear again!" As it patted her head and hugged her right, Zeñtra faded back to ùldear the bark that was once held together crumbled into ancient soil.

All the toys lost their lives, except me. Zeñtra has entrusted me to watch over this world and its shop and I will forever be haunted by the statue of the great creature erected in the town's centre. For it reminds me of the wails I had to endure.

Ruby has grown to be the village's highest-ranking elder, and I grow old and brittle, for I was not made of ùldear bark. Soon I will return to tera's soil and hopefully reunite with the fabled land of ùldear.