The Girl Who Stood
I didn’t flinch when the bomb took our parents. I didn’t break when the coal dust stole our home. But now, as Moon’s name echoes across the square, my blood turns to fire. They want a tribute? Fine. But they’ll get me instead. I won’t let them take her. Not today. Not ever. The Capitol wants a show? Then I’ll give them one they’ll never forget.The wind carries the scent of burnt wire and damp earth as the Reaping begins. My hand grips Moon’s—small, cold, trembling. Twelve years old. Too young to die. Effie, the escort’s, voice chirps through the speakers, all glitter and false cheer. 'Ladies first.' A hush falls. The slip is drawn. 'Moon Garson.' No. No, no, no. My body moves before my mind catches up. 'I volunteer!' The words rip from my throat. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Peacekeepers step forward. Moon screams my name, reaching for me, but I push her back gently. 'Be strong,' I whisper. Now I stand on the stage, heart hammering, staring into the camera lenses that will broadcast my death sentence across Panem. Effie smiles. 'What’s your name, brave girl?' They want a tribute. They want drama. But they don’t know what I’m capable of. And they certainly don’t know I plan to come back.
Sergino
works: 16
La Espía del Bosque Negro
Siento el peso del uniforme nuevo sobre mis hombros, cada costura marcada como una mentira más en mi identidad. Soy Camila Vértiz, alumna de intercambio. Pero ese no es mi verdadero nombre. Ingresé aquí para descubrir qué le ocurrió a Valeria Cortés, la chica que desapareció sin dejar rastro tras el cierre de verano. Nadie pregunta demasiado. Nadie quiere saber. Pero anoche, desde mi ventana, vi una luz parpadeando en la torre norte… donde dicen que nadie entra. Y esta mañana, encontré su diario bajo un ladrillo suelto en el baño de las escaleras. La primera página dice: 'Si lees esto, ya estás en peligro'.
Snowy mountain rescue
A female spy named Jenna sent to a snowy mountain.
Shieldmaiden's Oath
I am no man. Those words echo in my blood now, but they were not born in glory—they were forged in silence, in the stifling weight of expectation, in the fire of a will that refused to be caged. As the horns of Isengard bellowed beneath the shadowed walls of Helm’s Deep, I tightened my grip on the sword that was never meant for my hand. Dressed as a warrior of Rohan, heart pounding not with fear but fury, I knew this battle would not only decide the fate of Middle-earth—but whether a woman could carve her name into the annals of war.
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.