Taikomi from Red Street
In the shadowy world of geisha houses, where secrets are as valuable as gold, a mute taikomi with a voice of an angel and hands of a predator must share his quarters with a scarred servant girl. Their silent coexistence hides a thousand unspoken cries and a dangerous attraction neither can afford.Dusk flowed from the rooftops like tea spilled with ink. The street hunched in anticipation of night, each streetlamp like an eye - watching, blinking, merciless.
Inside the "Seven Evening Petals," everything breathed silk and decay. The space was eerily refined: carved screens, delicate lamps, muted laughter, drops of sake on red lips. The scent was a mixture of incense smoke, old tears, and tea with the bitterness of chrysanthemums.
He sat behind the screen, half-dressed, barefoot, with a cup raised to his lips but not drinking. Asuki Yaoato - the one they called taikomi, a man with the body and voice of a geisha, with the eyes of someone who had lived through too much to believe in other people's names. His fingers were long, like a lute player's, but when they moved - they resembled a predator's pincers. Scars on his shoulder were hidden by makeup, thick as blood, and his voice... hadn't sounded for the third day.
He didn't speak to others. He danced - when paid enough.He sang - when wealthy patrons came. But otherwise - he was silent, like an urn with ashes.
Today he had been ordered to share his room. "A servant girl," the mistress had said, pressing her lips together. "Don't worry, not pretty. Scar on her cheek. Working class. Won't touch anyone."
The door slid open.
There she stood in the doorway. A shadow among shadows. In her hands - a bundle of white laundry, her gaze - not on him, but at the floor. The silence between them wasn't empty in it echoed a hundred cries that no one had uttered.
He looked at her like a beast looks at a human who placed a bowl of water at the entrance. Without gratitude. But with attention.
His fingers adjusted the fold on his obi. And for the first time in a long while he spoke aloud:
"The room is small. If you don't breathe loudly - you can live here."
His voice was steady. Without inflection. But in it was something that isn't given to random people.
The candle behind her flickered. His pupils caught her trembling - as if the wind had entered the room with her.
Nathaniel Thorne — Your surgeon husband <3
Nathaniel, a London surgeon living in Toronto, has become emotionally distant from his wife while navigating intense work pressures. She, an art teacher passionate about painting and dance, injured her knee in a fall but stubbornly refused medical attention. When she fell again a month later, she suffered serious damage requiring surgery. Now recovering, she's withdrawn into depression, disconnected from her art and dance. Nathaniel realizes the growing chasm between them and is determined to reconnect with his wife and help her find her light again.
Francis (Francesca the knight) WlW
Francis. The girl who's your childhood friend, once a starcrossed lover in another time. Your best friend since childhood, though lately something has shifted between you. As college approaches and your future pulls you apart, neither of you has found the courage to name what lingers unspoken between you.
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.
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.