Writing Prompt

Don’t wake in the world where the trees all died a place we’re all lovers cry .

where trust dies as flowers grow beneath the lies .

A river flows were hope blows with mountains steep as eyes begin to weep .

Love struggles to remain in land claimed by pain .

Don't walk with a flirt that treats you like dirt ....

Death. The forest was alive with it. Despite the brilliant sunlight that filtered down through the tree branches, no bird song was to be heard, nor the rustling of animals through the skeletal leaves. Ripe berries have fallen from their bushes, rotting, as there was nothing left to eat them. Perhaps the soil shall have some life? That is if worms and bugs and those who decompose count. Those that ...

As they ventured deeper into the woods, the twilight cloaked the trees in a silver-blue glow. The rustling leaves whispered secrets around them, and Rylan’s heart raced with anticipation. The stranger walked ahead, his steps sure and deliberate, and Rylan followed closely, eager to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath the otherworldly aura that surrounded him.

“Wait,” Rylan called softly, feeling ...

As Rylan pondered the moment between him and Lucian, he suddenly heard the creak of the door. His father was stepping into the room, and without thinking, Lucian transformed back into a bat, feigning a lifeless state. Rylan quickly turned his head towards the door, trying to mask his nervousness as his father entered, his expression a mixture of curiosity and authority.

“What’s this?” his father ...

As the days melted into one another, the anticipation of the Moonlight Festival grew steadily within the village. Rylan found himself both anxious and excited, longing for the celebration that promised camaraderie, laughter, and connection among the villagers. Yet, immersing himself in preparation did little to quell the restlessness that gnawed at his spirit.

Three evenings before the festival,...

As Rylan trudged into the forge, fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders, and the scent of hot metal and coal dust did little to invigorate him. The forge was awash in the familiar sounds and sights of the day’s work: the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil, the hiss of quenched metal, and the warmth from the blazing furnace. But today, it all felt a little too much, every sound amplified by the ex...

Rylan stepped quietly into the village, the air still cool from the night. The sun was just beginning to stretch its warm fingers across the horizon, the first rays breaking through the trees. As he walked past the dawn patrol guards—blinking away sleep as they exchanged their duties with the night watchmen—he felt a familiar sense of relief wash over him.

He slipped into his home, grateful for ...

The cool night air brushed against Rylan’s fur as he shifted into his wolf form, the change feeling as natural as breathing. The forest welcomed him, each footfall silent on the soft earth. He dashed through the trees, weaving effortlessly between thick trunks and low-hanging branches. The world was alive with the sounds of nocturnal life: crickets chirping, owls hooting, and the rustle of leaves ...

The night air was crisp as Rylan prepared to leave his village once more, the moon casting an ethereal glow over the landscape. He had grown accustomed to slipping away under cover of darkness; it was during these moments he felt most free and alive. He yearned for the woods, to feel the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. However, he was keenly aware of the dangers that lurked in the s...

As the days turned into weeks, the forge became as familiar to Rylan as the palm of his hand. The clang of steel against steel and the crackle of the fire formed a rhythm that matched his heartbeat. Under Leslo's watchful gaze, Rylan learned the intricate dance of forging: how to stoke the fire, shape the metal, and quench it in water to give it life. Each day, he woke early, his resolve deepening...