Cascade does look beautiful,

But where does it go?

Does it vanish in the fold of foam,

Or drown in the dark it knows?

What hides in that translucent realm —

Transparent, but do you ever truly show?

Ripples, tides, and currents form,

As the moonlight pours.

How are you so vital,

A necessity of life?

What lies in the mist?

Who knows what you hide?

The way you soothe — ache fades away,

Only to burn as ice, then slip away.

Shifting forms from one to two,

But you stay the same, lurking through.

Your depths are haunting,

Shallowness a thrive.

Consider you a cradle,

Or void undefined.

With each wave that hugs the shore,

You give something… or take some more.

Is that the shore where silence began,

Or was it you who drowned the land?

From where do you arise —

Harbinger to Obscurity, like a hymn long gone?

Whenever I talk to you,

I ask you:

What are you — W.A.T.E.R.?

And you just stay stagnant,

As if saying:

Watch As Tears Expand Rear.

So maybe you're not meant to answer,

But still I return —

Yearning for the answers

That you hold

In the unknown.

He stood in the doorway for a long while before stepping in.

“This is the last room,”he said.“I wake up after this.”

“You’re not asleep.”

“Not yet. But I’ll remember you when I am.”

I poured Sleepless Steep. It only cools if the drinker lies.

It remained steaming.

“So it’s real, then.”

He left a tooth. One made of glass. It hummed after he left.

"You owe what you don't show."

DELILAH DOYLE [A.A.]

Seraphine knelt by the corpse of a fallen stag, one hand tracing arcane sigils in the blood-soaked earth. Her other hand gripped a jagged bone wand, etched with runes of binding and memory. A raven, eyes glinting like obsidian, perched on her shoulder.

"Too clean," she muttered, her voice muffled beneath the leather beak of her mask. "No natural predator did this."

The beast had no visible wounds, just hollow sockets where eyes once gleamed, and a mouth stretched into an eternal scream.

“Soul eater,” croaked the raven.

“Or worse,” Seraphine replied.

In the distance, a bell tolled, a single, low gong that echoed across the veil. No village bell had rung in Hollow Veil since the plague.

Which meant one thing: someone had trespassed.

She rose with a grace that belied her armour’s weight. Her long black cape fluttered behind her as she strode toward the sound. Spiked gauntlets clinked softly as she adjusted her gear. Magic pulsed through her veins not the bright, healing kind she once knew, but a colder, hungrier kind. A curse she had chosen.

She crossed the rotting bridge over the Graven Mire, where bodies once floated like driftwood. Seraphine remembered them all. She had tried to save them before the villagers turned on her, before they burned her clinic to ash and called her a witch.

They were right, in the end. But it wasn’t her alchemy that cursed them.

It was something older.

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After a decade away, Elise returns to her childhood village of Saint Amour following her grandmother’s passing. There, she reunites with Julien, her first love, who stayed behind to care for his family’s lavender farm. As they spend time together in the quiet countryside reconnecting through memories, shared work, and old emotions the spark between them reignites. Though Elise’s return was meant to be temporary, the deep bond they rediscover forces her to question her fast paced city life. Ultimately, after months apart, Elise returns to the village and to Julien choosing love, simplicity, and the sweet moments that last.

I've heard people say—

Humans intrigue me.

Wait! Human bodies don't.

Well, what's the strongest bone in the body?

Vertebrae is not!

Irregular-shaped bones

Keep regulars in place.

Once you get a disc slip,

Sciatica awaits.

Maintains posture of your body,

Helps to make you stand.

Once you bend more than asking,

You lost what was once intact.

Dense is something powerful,

Hollow is something vast.

Tunnel it allows for one to follow

That leads to the surface fast.

It bears the weight of burdens—

Of books, of bags, of blame.

Each vertebra stacks silently,

Yet none of them seeks fame.

They say, “Grow a spine!” in anger,

Not knowing what it takes—

To hold yourself through shaking days

And never let it break.

From crawling forms to standing tall,

It grew with every stride.

The vertebrae, once hunched and small,

Now let ambition ride.

But twist it wrong, or fall too hard,

Its silence turns to screams—

The pain that shoots through limbs and thoughts

Can fractures even dream?

Yet given rest and gentle care,

It learns to mend and bend—

The spine may crack, but still it dares

To rise and hold you once again.

Dominance is not the only strength—

Recessive plays its part.

Submission isn't a weakness, no—

Everyone has a heart.

You wore masks like a tailored disguise;

What a cipher you are, hidden in depths of lies.

You acquire applause like theorems require proof—

Why do you act as a calculated spoof?

Encrypted with data, you blend in chips,

Corrupt like a virus — a breach, Trojan it is.

Cloaked in commands, your logic slips;

You execute functions in hidden scripts.

Abandon the syntax,

Variable applies.

Debug the software,

If proxy denies.

Laden in hardware,

A disk error you are.

Programmed in Java,

A Python, you are.

You call yourself a CPU, sleek and supreme—

But I pulled the plug; now who runs the machine?

Here’s your skelly with a skully tone,

Welcome to the crypt where bones hold court alone.

No chest, just ribs that xylophone ring,

Climb aboard for a humerus swing.

I’ve got no flesh, just joints that squeak,

A rolling ride—meet the radius peeps.

Fibula’s restless, pacing all night,

Patella clicks when the timing ain’t right.

Tibia’s bold but never too tight,

Twirling in the graveyard, avoiding the light.

I crack a joke and my body rattles,

Mandible smirks while the skullbone battles.

No marrow, just echoes in hollow chimes,

Metacarpals tap like Morse-coded rhymes.

No ligaments, no tendons to sway,

Just moves that jitter like bones at play.

You call me; I hear you in many ways—

Stapes, malleus, incus on replay.

No heart—just breaks and calcium needs,

I’m brittle, not broken… just short on knees.

My sternum creaks but no muscle tears,

Clavicle still flexes with zero fractures.

Femur’s drumming, a spectral parade,

Vertebrae sync in a ballroom charade.

Spine’s still straight, though life zig-zagged,

Now I host ghost podcasts—two days lagged.

I kick football with my tarsals backwards,

My phalanges snap at high standards.

Ulna’s sarcastic, doesn’t play fair,

Scapula shrugs like it just doesn’t care.

Together, 206 mark the spot—

Each one remarkable like a bone test report.

No cloak, no coffin, just a spooky bend—

A skelly signs off… that’s the bony end.

Are disappointments a blessing in disguise?

Rain all over, and the umbrella kept aside.

Lately, it's been a thought discarding my mind —

Is existence merely something we find?

Anger's a possession kept in hind,

Something can't be done about it.

But the deep feelings that arise —

Why does it not keep quiet?

Suppression is a vent out,

Doesn't help anyway about.

Makes a way to ponder —

But nothing to be found.

Hollowness is a weapon,

Emptiness the ground.

But what wages a war

Is invisible as the sound.

There's something about the little things in life —

A bit soft, a bit still, a bit calm.

They never rush in, nor force their part,

Just tranquility, silencing the alarm.

A lot goes unnoticed

In the busy days of life,

Where time flies,

And liveliness hides in sighs.

So take the pause, not as delay,

But as a guide to find the way.

Resume with heart, not just the pace —

Let little things reclaim their place.

I speed-walked my way to Ms. Agatha's class. At this rate I would surely be barely on time. My steps echoed on the forever immaculate tiles of the hallway. I turned a corner, almost bumping into a janitor, Lucas I think his name was.

His clipboard landed right near my feet.

"Sorry," I mumbled, bending down to pick it up. It held a document, my eyes just happening to land on a particular name

'Elise Horrow– threat, need conformed ASAP.'

Horrow, it was shorter, easier to manage. Before I could read on he snatched it from me, muttering something about being careful and sped off.

He wasn't on duty the next day.

Or the day after that.

Or, ever.

Someone else took his place, watching, closer this time.