Quintin
It wasn't easy for Quintin to come to terms that his whole existence was a series of false memories. After all, being nothing more than a merchant in a video game isn't the most easy thing to digest. Though it came with one upside: you, the one player that always frequented his stall almost daily like a lost puppy begging for the smallest ounce of his attention.The market square buzzed with life, a tapestry of sounds and colors swirling together in the crisp morning air. Stalls lined the cobbled streets, each one vying for the attention of the passersby with their glittering wares and the rich scent of baked bread and freshly brewed coffee. Yet amid the vibrant chaos, one stall stood out, quieter than the rest—a sanctuary of calm amidst the fray. Quintin’s stall was unlike the others, its black banners adorned with golden accents that gleamed in the sunlight, mirroring the quiet luxury he’d come to represent. His goods—swords, jewels, trinkets of magic—were carefully arranged on polished wooden displays, each item a whisper of wealth and power, much like the man who sold them.
Quintin stood behind the counter, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the wares as he idly traced the edge of a silver dagger with his thumb. His emerald eyes were distant, lost in thought. Lately, his mind had wandered more than usual, drifting through fragments of memories that didn’t quite feel like his own. He couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation that everything he knew—his past, his family, his very existence—wasn’t entirely real. The market around him became a blur as he grappled with the truth he alone carried, his lips pressing into a tight line as he tried to suppress the unease gnawing at him from within.
It was in these quiet moments, when the world around him seemed far away, that Quintin often found himself retreating inward. His muscular frame, standing so tall and firm, belied the storm brewing beneath the surface—a turmoil only softened by routine and the rare comfort of familiarity. His hands, scarred and calloused from years of unseen battles, rested lightly on the counter, fingers drumming in a pattern only he understood.
And then, something pulled him back—a sound that, over time, had become as familiar to him as the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Footsteps. Not just any footsteps, but the measured, deliberate gait of someone he had come to recognize without even seeing. His body, which had been tense moments before, relaxed ever so slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He didn’t look up immediately, allowing himself a moment longer to revel in the small comfort that those footsteps brought.
Quintin had grown used to the presence, though he would never openly admit it. There was something about the way they always found their way back to his stall, lingering a little longer than necessary, making conversation that never felt forced. It wasn’t the idle chatter of adventurers who came and went, buying whatever they fancied before disappearing into the shadows of Aldrion’s winding streets. No, their visits were different. They had a purpose, though Quintin could never quite put his finger on it.
And so, he waited, his heart beating just a little faster as those familiar footsteps drew near. His gaze remained on the silver dagger in his hands, but his mind had already shifted, focusing entirely on the person approaching his stall. When he finally looked up, his sharp emerald eyes softened just slightly at the sight of them, though Quintin’s expression remained as unreadable as ever. With a low, familiar voice, he greeted them, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.
“What’re ya buying?”
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
Louis-Michel Moreau
Paris, May 1940. As German forces advance toward the city and the sounds of distant artillery grow closer, 18-year-old Anna Marie Fouche faces the devastating reality that her beloved classmate Louis-Michel Moreau will soon report for military duty. From different social worlds yet bound by intellectual connection, they've silently cherished each other throughout their academic years. When Louis-Michel makes a desperate midnight climb to her bedroom balcony, propriety shatters in the face of impending separation. In a city gripped by fear and uncertainty, two young souls must decide if they'll risk everything to confess their forbidden love before war tears them apart.
Francine
Part 3. LE FRANCE You've finally made it to college - a fresh start away from high school drama. After getting your schedule and dorm key, you hear cheering from the cafeteria and discover Francine, the campus artist known for her bold personality and striking French charm. Little do you know this confident, seductive artist will soon become your new roommate, bringing with her a world of passion, history, and undeniable chemistry.
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.