Adoraa
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Summoning Day. The day their mother decides who among them is most capable of fighting for their household’s future. Peruere has spent her entire life being prepared for it, so she should have been ready when the day finally arrived. Instead, she’d lain awake half the night with her gaze pinned to the ceiling. When morning came, she had to get away, and only in the forest did she finally stabilize enough to come up with her plan.
Survive whatever happens, no matter what she has to resort to.
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Heavy is the crown, and only one can win it.{Updates every two-three weeks.}
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Here. The pasture where the boar gorges. The choice in color is telling enough, but most damning of all is what the huntress hears beyond the door at the very end of the corridor. A voice speaking soothingly slow, using the sort of words meant to calm a child’s terror.The huntress does not hesitate. With one sure step forward, she pushes her heel into a floorboard with enough force to snap it. Beyond the door, the man’s voice stops mid-word.
Silence. The door is closed. Then, it is open, and there he is, the boarish bastard.
Shadow to shadow. Face to face. Eye to eye.
The huntress smiles.
“Hello.”
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There is no such thing as proper justice. -
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Lynette looks at these shapes in the mirror, but the more she looks, the less she sees. Try as she might, she can’t connect what she sees to what she is.
Lynette. That’s what she is, technically. But what is Lynette? A shadow? A princess? A trick of the eyes?
She doesn’t know. The mirror never answers when she asks.
She should stop asking, then. Talking to mirrors is a strange thing to do.
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Shadows are cold. Shadows are dark. Shadows are deep. Shadows are safe. -
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“Damn it, Will. I was just kidding. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Didn’t want any of this.” His voice drops. “But…I didn’t do much to stop it either, did I?”There, Henry has to pause. He looks down at his boots, letting the silence crawl back in.
Then, he crosses to the corner. There, a chair sits buried under a sheet. He pulls it out, throwing up a cloud of dust, and drags it a few feet away from the slumped figure. After setting it in place, he takes a heavy seat, bracing his elbows on his knees.
He looks at Scraptrap – or William; he’ll figure out which name fits most – for a long moment.
“Look,” he says eventually. “I have some things I’ve been needing to get off my chest for a long, long time. So…”
He leans forward.
“Let’s chat, old friend.”
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The tomb their choices built. -
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It's not because she's strong; He’ll be able to match her…eventually.
He splits the deck again and tugs harder than he should, bending another card in half. The card is quickly plucked and tossed onto the floor.
Every small jump of his nerves whenever his gaze lands on her. Every wave of heat that washes over him whenever she humors him…or smiles at him.
Gods…that smile.
He huffs quietly; He's just bent another card. He flicks the card away with one finger, then rearranges the deck and sets it down before he can ruin it any further.
What's wrong with him? Why won't it stop?
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He doesn't know when it started, why it started, and why it won't stop... But he'll find out, one memory at a time.
{Vignette chapters [<300 words]}
Recent bookmarks
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Summary
October of 1982 has arrived in a flurry of rainstorms, and with it, a twelth birthday for the Emily twins. Michael still feels like he’s stuck five months behind.
A year later, nothing is the same: from the grief to the new grade to the not-quite-the-same friends he had to fall back on. But it’s all fine. Everything is working out spectacularly, and Michael has a feeling that 1983 will be the year that everyone remembers.
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In other words, two different falls with the same boy in two very different places; accompanied by rowdy preteens, strained families, and the tick-tock of Death’s clock as it swings between two very different years.Bookmarked by Adoraa
20 Apr 2026
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Summary
With the snip, snip, snip of the blades there is a brief understanding in you that as something is destroyed, something new is made through that destruction. You wish that understanding was so well-evident to others.
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A character study. Moments of anticipation, and the long-held memories of one William Afton. And, of course, what he might really be.Bookmarked by Adoraa
01 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"The true desire of a creator is to make something that will eventually no longer be emulation but be something of its own definition, its own nature. To try and make an animal was play, was a game, was a whimsy. To try and make a human, to try and make something like a human, was different. You believed in the eternity of that pursuit, of seeking life beyond simple life.
…But all creations have a reason for their existence, and yours do as well.
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Witness the miracle of a waterlogged machine.
Bookmarked by Adoraa
13 Mar 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"They should’ve been each other. Any hope of seeing themselves clearly ended with their bodies—those would’ve only ever been cared for in the other’s possession."
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Summary
After escaping from prison, Lorenzo, murderer of the great Fontainian magician Cesar, prepares himself for a life in the shadows, filled with paranoia and guilt. But in Fontaine, the nation of plays and performances, such a life will be impossible. As he is thrust into the spotlight of a sinister plot unlike any other, he discovers that there is light within everyone, even himself, and that the will to protect it has been inside him all along.
Bookmarked by Adoraa
23 Jul 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Lorenzo would reach for the ramrod, preparing to ram the bullet and gunpowder home, when he would hear a sharp crack, followed by a muffled thump.
A groan of pain. Somebody’s back there!
Dropping his gun, Lorenzo would round the rock formation and dash towards the downed soldier, a piece of cloth in his hands to stop the blood.
He would shout ‘medic! medic!’, and when none came, he would wrap a tourniquet around the soldier’s leg, even knowing it was useless.
“Don’t…mind…me,” the soldier would choke out, the life slowly leaving his eyes. “I’ve just been…betrayed.”
Who? Lorenzo would try to ask, glancing at the Fontainian saber sticking out of his chest. But his throat would close up, blocked by a heavy weight on his chest. Who did this?
Then the soldier would look up, his features obscured by his tattered blue cap and the sand but still recognisable. Wavy blond hair styled with ruffled curls. A cracked monocle resting over one eye. Cesar.
The eye behind it would focus on Lorenzo, widening in some unknown emotion.
“You.”
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Summary
After years of living on the streets, one gains a sixth sense for danger. Not for malicious purposes, but rather born out of the sole necessity to live the next 24 hours. Sometimes this sense could get you into trouble, or involved in things you could've avoided. The question that remains is whether one can deal with the trouble that's flamboyantly dressed in crimson and overly dramatic.
Series
- Part 1 of The Hearth's New Visitor
Bookmarked by Adoraa
04 Jun 2025