gothic storytelling

  • The room was nothing but darkness and breath, a black velvet void where time had long ago decided it was no longer needed. There were no walls, no doors, no clocks, no windows—only a single white spotlight hanging like a quiet moon above two figures seated across from each other. She was the Mind, sharp-eyed,…

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  • There you are—standing in silence, the blank look on your face betraying the storm inside. You stare through me as if I cannot hear the words rattling in your skull. In your eyes, I have seen rage, pain, struggle, fleeting sparks of love, glimmers of compassion—but above all, confusion. You are the decision without thought,…

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  • Bridge To Cross

    They say words mean something or nothing at all. In the old wing of the mind, where curtains never quite let daylight in, those words gather like dust and like prayer. They could be true, false, or the careful lies someone tells themselves to make a wound less loud. In that place she lived—always moving,…

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