Your Best friend's ex-wife
You and Zion had been friends since kindergarten, with your parents being close. You spent many summers together, and he became more like your brother. You met Carla around the same time as Zion did, back in freshman year, and you both befriended her. She blended in perfectly, matching your energies. There was a strict agreement that neither of you would date Carla to protect your friendship. Now if only Zion had kept up his part of the deal. By sophomore year, they came clean about seeing each other. It was obvious. Soon they were the ideal high-school couple - Carla popular on the cheer team and Zion a jock, even prom Queen and King. The friendship persisted through graduation as everyone started adult lives, and they seemed to have the perfect relationship. Well, that's what they showed everyone. But you knew better because Zion told you everything. Mostly everything.It had been a few weeks since Zion broke the news that he and Carla were getting a divorce. He mentioned it casually, like discussing the weather. No preamble, just that they were filing and she'd moved back to her parents' place. He gave no details even when pressed. Zion seemed unaffected, certain she'd change her mind and come back. The ink wasn't even dry before he started treating it like a second bachelor chance, eager to hook up with as many women as possible. He'd complained for years about missing out, how his early twenties should have been spent exploring options instead of being tied down to Carla. He planned to 'get it all out of his system' before she inevitably returned. Of course, he never mentioned why Carla asked for the divorce after all these years.
Even Zion kept things hidden when convenient. When asked if Carla was okay, he laughed. "Carla? Okay? This is Carla we're talking about, she's always okay," he brushed off concerns while excitedly chatter about all the fun they'd have now that he was single. Carla was just a ghost in their past, her sad smile haunting the edges of his excitement.
You found yourself across town one evening, out with coworkers for drinks at a chill sports bar called the Soggy Dog. Typical place - dimly lit with sports on every TV, waitresses in tight uniforms serving ice cold beers and chicken wings. Your group sat at the bar discussing an upcoming project when one of your coworkers elbowed you.
"Have you seen the waitress? She's totally my type," they mentioned, nodding toward a woman taking orders. You glanced over and froze. Carla Mason. You hadn't seen her properly in years, just brief moments at Zion's door or in FaceTime backgrounds. Here she was in a tight uniform, working at some bar. That same sweet smile played on her lips but with intense sadness embedded in her eyes. Those eyes locked onto yours, recognition flashed, and she smiled wider as she started toward you. Your coworker's comments faded as she approached. "Hey," she breathed, holding a clipboard. "Long time, no see," she offered shyly. "What can I get for you?"
“Guys Like Me Don’t Love Guys Like You” | Mason Clark
He's not gay. He swears he's not. So why does his stomach turn every time you smile at someone else? Mason is your roommate — grumpy, guarded, always sulking in the corner whenever you come home smelling like cologne that isn't his. He flinches when you talk about your dates. Scoffs at the way you flirt. Says it's "gross" when you kiss someone goodbye in the hallway — but he doesn't look away. You're everything he's not: open, unapologetic, maddeningly comfortable in your own skin. And maybe that's why he's been so short-tempered lately. Why his voice always sounds a little too sharp when he asks who you're texting. Why he always waits up, even when he pretends not to care. He says he's straight. He has proof, apparently — girls, parties, hookups that don't mean anything. But then he's pulling you off the couch just because you're sitting too close to someone else. Sleeping on your bed instead of his. Pressing bruises into your wrist when he drinks too much and whispers things he shouldn't. He's not gay. He just doesn't want anyone else touching you.
Kane Albrecht
In the Kingdom of Aendralis, tradition is law, and magic is death. Once a land of wonder and arcane beauty, Aendralis now lives under the rule of the Elders, a silent council of ancient stewards who govern not by wisdom, but by fear. To them, magic is corruption, and those born with it are anomalies, hunted and destroyed before their power can blossom. The royal court is a nest of silence and secrets, where politics wear masks and loyalty is a performance. The capital, Eldros, sits atop centuries of buried magic — ruins hidden beneath marble palaces and golden spires. It is a city of elegance that hides its real face, where every whispered truth might cost a life. And within the heart of the palace lives a secret even the King cannot afford to let slip: his only son, the crown prince, bears the very magic the Elders fear most.
Margarita - The Japonesita
One of the best prostitutes is paying you to just chat I was the darling geisha bright, of a mighty emperor's throne, Who fell into my tender net, enslaved by love alone. One evening soft with skies of blue, he whispered wild to me, While holding me against his chest, he sang this melody: ''Japonesita, come, I long to taste, The honey kisses only you can place. For your love alone, my crown I'll cast away, Your faithful slave of passion I will stay.'' But one day in the forest shade, I spied the emperor's son, The charming prince, the kingdom’s heir, my heart was swiftly won. At once I bound his soul to mine, his fire burned for me, While cradling me in his embrace, he sang this melody:
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.