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Showing posts from August, 2025

"Bridal Silence"

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  SHADOWED BEGINNING The road stretched endlessly under the pale morning sky, fog curling lazily across the fields. Zane Faulkner leaned back in the driver’s seat of his black sedan, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting near the window. His face, framed by slightly tousled hair, wore its usual sly half-smile — that infuriatingly calm smile that never revealed more than he wanted. Beside him, Eli was fidgeting. His tie was crooked, his hair slightly unkempt, and his nervous eyes kept darting toward Zane. “Why do you always look like you’re going to a fashion magazine photoshoot while I look like… like a waiter who stole his cousin’s suit?” Eli grumbled. Zane chuckled. “Because, my dear Eli, you were born with a permanent expression of distress. I merely perfected mine.” From the back seat, Lyra let out a soft laugh. She was adjusting her earrings, her reflection caught in the small mirror she held. “He’s not wrong, Eli. You always look like you’ve just been caug...

"Phantom Truth"

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  THE ABANDONED HOUSE Hollowbrook Estate had long been a monument to silence. Its cracked stones bore ivy like old scars, and its windows seemed blind, staring out into the fog without seeing. The night pressed heavy, cloaked in mist, while the faint beams of police lanterns flickered inside. The drawing room held its secret in plain sight: a lifeless man sprawled across a velvet carpet. His suit was immaculate—deep wine in color—but marred by the crimson bloom at his chest. A fountain pen lay in his hand, its nib snapped, a notebook scattered beside him like fallen feathers. Detective Rowan crouched by the corpse. “Charles Densmore,” he whispered grimly. The officers exchanged uneasy glances. Everyone knew the name. Densmore, the celebrated gothic novelist, whose books had chilled generations. The master of haunted manors and cursed bloodlines now lay in his own macabre scene. One officer muttered, “Almost poetic, isn’t it? The writer of horrors… dead in one.” A draft swept...

"Hidden Walls"

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  THE APARTMENT ARGUMENT “Eli, you look like you’re packing for the apocalypse.” Zane Faulkner lounged lazily on the arm of a chair, watching with amusement as Eli attempted to close an overstuffed suitcase. The poor man nearly sat on it, grunting with effort. “It’s called preparation,” Eli snapped. “Unlike you, who thinks a single overcoat and smug sarcasm are enough for survival.” Zane smoothed the lapel of his black coat, a sly grin flickering. “My dear Eli, this ‘smug sarcasm’ has kept me alive longer than most people’s entire wardrobes.” “Sometimes I wonder why I even put up with you,” Eli muttered, tugging at the zipper. “Because,” Zane replied with mock seriousness, “deep down you admire me.” Eli threw him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “If by admire you mean tolerate with deep regret, then yes.” Their playful quarrel echoed through the apartment. Outside, fog clung to the city like a heavy blanket. Tonight they would leave for the countryside guest house where,...

"The Last Guest"

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  A JOURNEY INTO THE MOUNTAINS The car rolled smoothly along the winding mountain road, headlights slicing through the velvet dusk. The weather was unusually clear for this time of year—no mist, no fog, only the fading hues of the sun painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson. A stretch of open wilderness unfolded around them: towering pines, sharp cliffs, and distant peaks that glowed faintly under the last kiss of daylight. Inside the car, the atmosphere was anything but calm. Eli was hunched in the passenger seat, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression was halfway between worry and annoyance. “I still don’t see why we had to come all the way to some mountain lodge for a party,” he muttered, glancing suspiciously at the road ahead. “Parties mean noise, and noise means people, and people usually mean trouble.” Zane Faulkner, behind the wheel, wore his usual sly smile. His tousled dark hair caught faint streaks of light from the dashboard. He tapped the s...

"Fog Island"

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  THE FOG-BOUND JOURNEY The ferry’s horn moaned through the thick curtain of fog, a sound that seemed to dissolve into the gray world around them. The sea was calm, but the mist was so dense that even the water vanished after a few meters, leaving them adrift in a world of white and shadow. Zane Faulkner stood at the starboard rail, hands in the pockets of his long black overcoat, the sly curve of his smile entirely unbothered by the chill in the air. His gaze was fixed ahead, as if he could see straight through the fog to the island that lay hidden. Behind him, Eli sat slouched on a wooden bench, bundled in his jacket, glaring at the mist as though it had personally wronged him. “This is ridiculous,” Eli muttered for the fifth time in an hour. “You still haven’t told us why we’re sailing into the middle of nowhere. I don’t like places where you can’t see what’s ahead. It’s… unnatural.” Zane turned slightly, his tone light. “Unnatural? The sea has existed for a few years befo...