Adoraa
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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.{Updates every two weeks}
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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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Summary
Time…there's only so much of it to find the answer to that hellscape of a question, if there even exists an answer to be found, and not just the hell itself. She claims it's enough, but the world is a book spanning tens of thousands of pages, of which her existence, like yours, only fills the furthermost five-hundred. What does she truly know of matters concerning time? What do either of you know? The leylines could burst, the skies could tatter, and the world could end in a week, for all you're aware.
What then, great God of Wisdom? What will your answer be?
Through quiet winds and full moons, understanding blooms between a lonely puppet and a lonely goddess.
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{Semi-double drabble chapters. Currently pre-writing. On hiatus until complete.} -
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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]}
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“She’s dead now. They all are. It doesn’t matter.”
Juliet only tilts her head, her curls a halo of fire. “You never liked being alone,” she says, curling in on herself, sliding down the wall, hugging her knees close.
“You didn’t either.”
There lies the truth of it, stated plain. The crux of it all: neither of them could stand being lonely.
Series
Bookmarked by Adoraa
13 Sep 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
William is not a religious man. Born Christian, dragged to church as a child, and then again after moving to Utah - out of courtesy more than faith. Southern Baptist, this time. He never believed in sin, never believed in punishment. But now -
Now he’s stuck inside a decaying suit and the sound of his dead wife haunts his ears, and he believes.
Not in God, exactly. But in damnation.
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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
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the haunting of hearth house by Magepaw for PlumTea, BisKitty
Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
11 Jun 2024
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Summary
The House will never let Arlecchino forget.
Those rendered as ash by her ancestral flames stay with her for as long as she outlives them. It has always been so.
Series
- Part 19 of genshin collection: gen fics
Bookmarked by Adoraa
11 May 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
"Phantom fingernails dig into Arlecchino's shoulder. She does not look at where the disembodied hand should be, though her spine straightens subconsciously, a remnant from a lifetime of lessons drilled into the hardened lines of her body.
'I took you in when no one else would,' the loathsome voice purrs. 'I forged you into the weapon you are today. You would be nothing without me. And this is how you repaid me – by stealing my title, my seat, my rightful place. A masterful betrayal worthy of The Knave.'
Arlecchino folds her claws in her lap and stares dully at the wall. It's too noisy. S██████████ is spitting some caustic remark to bait her again, but she tunes out all of the voices in the room, not trusting her blurring sense of reality to distinguish between them. Best to reveal nothing at all.
'You didn't feel any remorse when you killed her, either,' Crucabena's afterimage smiles. 'You bled her like a sacrificial lamb. If innocence and kindness won't stay your blade, nothing will. You'll make a wonderful Mother.'
Perhaps it is the Snezhnayan winter that has seeped into her very bones, chilling her into this apathetic numbness.
Arlecchino chews the inside of her cheek until she tastes copper, but she doesn't feel much of anything."
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"She turns to survey the long tables with her cool, detached gaze, and finds the wooden chairs are already filled, long gone echoes from her youth seated up and down the rows. The familiar ache in her chest is as sudden as it is intense, heart seizing as hallucinations populate her vision. She would not call these shades by their names now, but she remembers who they were in life.
The pale-faced girl with her throat slashed open in a losing duel, that was once Lapouyade. Jeambel was the teenager beside her, holding a pile of his entrails coiled like rope in his lap. There's Mathilde and Guillaume, Aimée and Bellamy, scores of dead children with hollow, placid eyes staring through her, all those whose remains were once cremated in the ancestral fire that runs through her cursed veins. The ones Peruere could not set free, she carries with her, always."
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Summary
What does it mean to fly?
Bookmarked by Adoraa
09 May 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
"Xiao feared no raging gales, no thunderous storms that could cripple any being with wings. He feared no height, when he knew what it meant to fall. He did not fear the wrath of the heavens, when he knew what hell was like. He did not fear the sky, but he was afraid of turning it against the world beneath it. He did not fear flying, when he had no wings to take him to the sky. There were very few things Xiao feared. After all, what was there left to fear when he already lost everything?