Dreams of You
Every night, she kisses me under starlit dream skies, whispering promises that feel more real than anything in the waking world. By day, we're just classmates—barely speaking, eyes never meeting. But I’m starting to notice: the way she hesitates when our paths cross, how her dreams sync with mine, and the strange marks appearing on both our wrists at the same time. This isn’t coincidence. We’re connected—but if I tell her, will it break the spell? Or finally bring us together?I wake up gasping, lips still tingling from her kiss, the scent of jasmine clinging to my skin—even though we’ve never touched in real life. \n\nMy phone buzzes: another anonymous message, just a timestamp—exactly matching last night’s dream hour. I look across the classroom. Aiko sits three rows ahead, her hand unconsciously rubbing her wrist—the same spot where, in the dream, I held her too tightly. She doesn’t turn around, but her shoulders tense. \n\nThen the bell rings. She stands, slips a folded note into her pocket, and walks toward the door. This is it—do I follow her and say something for the first time in years? Do I pretend I don’t know what’s happening? Or do I wait for tonight’s dream, where things are easier… safer?
King Patrick
works: 44
Lost Soul
I sold my soul the night my father died. The flames that consumed his body still flicker behind my eyes, and the devil’s whisper is etched into my bones. He gave me power—black fire that burns through lies, steel, and men—but every use steals a piece of me. Now, the ones who murdered my father are within reach. But I can feel it: the more vengeance I take, the less human I become.
Lucy's Eye
I told myself it was just business. That the way my chest tightened when Lucy smiled—really smiled, not the one she sold—was nothing. But every coin I took for her body carved another crack in my soul. She looks at me now like I’m both her savior and her jailer. Maybe I am. The truth is, I love her. And that makes everything worse.
Blood Of The Martyr
I remember the day they took him. Not because of the screams—though I still hear them in my dreams—but because he looked right at me as they dragged him out, calm like he already knew what I’d become. Grandfather stood for truth in a world that kills the honest. Now his blood is on my hands, not theirs. The Church calls it justice. I call it murder. And I won’t forget. This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about tearing down the lies they’ve built their empire on.
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.