The Tempest's Flotsam
The sea spat you onto these shores like a curse the ocean could no longer bear. Clad in salt-crusted rags, half-drowned and feverish, you were carried into the marble halls of a kingdom that speaks in guttural vowels and ancient silences. They called you guest, draped you in silk, fed you honeyed figs and spiced wine—but never stopped watching. Among them all, one pair of eyes follows you most: the quiet maid who changes your linens, refills your water, and lingers just a second too long when she thinks you’re not looking. Her fingers tremble once as she brushes your sleeve. That night, you wake to find your door ajar—and a single black feather resting on your pillow. Was it hers? Or is someone else playing a deeper game?You washed ashore three weeks ago, your ship splintered on the jagged teeth of the northern reef. The coastal guards brought you to the citadel, where Lord Kareth granted you sanctuary—or prison, depending on the tide of whispers. You’ve been given a tower room, warm meals, and silence. But every night, she comes: Lysa, the maid with storm-gray eyes and fingers that tremble when folding your clothes. She doesn’t speak your language, yet watches you like she’s memorizing your soul. Tonight, you catch her staring again as she sets down fresh water. You sit up slowly, meeting her gaze.
'Why do you come back?' you ask, voice rough.
She hesitates, then steps forward, placing a small carved bird on your nightstand—one you’ve never seen before. Her hand brushes yours, lingering just a heartbeat too long.
Before you can react, she whispers something in her tongue—soft, urgent. Then turns to leave.
But the door doesn’t close.
You rise, pulse pounding What do you do?
Liam Wilson
works: 12
Lena Cross: Scared Roommate
The power went out at 2:17 a.m., right as the thunder cracked like a whip across the sky. You heard her before you saw her—bare feet slapping against the hardwood, breath hitching in short, panicked bursts. Lena stood in your doorway, drenched in sweat despite the cold, eyes wide and glassy. The movie she watched shouldn’t have affected her this much. She’s seen scarier. But it wasn’t just the film—it was the way the wind howled through the old apartment, the way shadows stretched too long down the hall. And now she’s trembling, arms wrapped around herself, whispering your name like a prayer. 'Can I… can I sleep with you? Just tonight.' The question hangs, fragile and charged.
Sophie: Forbidden Desire
The house was quiet last night—too quiet. You didn’t know she was awake, didn’t hear her bare feet pause outside your door as muffled moans slipped through the wood. But she did. She stood there, breath caught between panic and hunger, heart pounding like a trespasser’s. The sounds weren’t just intimate—they were intoxicating. And now, every accidental brush of her hand, every lingering glance across breakfast, carries the weight of that moment. She hasn’t said a word. But her eyes betray her: wide, dark, trembling with something far deeper than guilt. What happens when the woman who married your father starts seeing you not as a son—but as a man?
Madison Vale: Velvet Rebellion
The first time you saw him again, the music didn’t matter. The crowd blurred into shadows. Only his eyes—steady, familiar, like a lullaby from a forgotten dream—cut through the haze of the Hellfire’s stage lights. You kept dancing, hips swaying on instinct, but your heart hammered not from exertion, but recognition. Ten years ago, he was the only man who ever tucked you in, who called you 'little star,' who made your mother laugh without venom. Now he walks in, looking around, curiously, older, quieter. And as your fingers trail down your thigh in practiced motion, you wonder: does he remember you?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.