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図書館
Forum-Index → Fanmades → Fanfictions → 図書館
Posted: Mon, 01/04/2024 12:00 (1 Month ago)
"The tongue that has no bones can cause one great sorrow, yet also bring about gladness"
tasha~'s manic ramblings
Hi, hello, if you're reading this, welcome! You've found my little library, a place where I post very, very rarely. And if you plan on staying, shall I rephrase myself? These are the illiterate ramblings of a faceless fool. I'd hope you enjoy yourself here. If not, well, I'm not sure there's much I can do for you.
Contents
title | complete?
bird set free | wip
imaginary friend | complete
⚠️ none of these are beta read | please do not post ⚠️
Posted: Mon, 01/04/2024 12:01 (1 Month ago)
ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴇᴘʜᴏɴᴇ | ɢʀɪᴇꜰ
ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴄʀʏ - ᴀᴠɪᴠᴀ
0:01 ❍─────── 4:28
↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺
Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%
ᴀɢᴇ: 16
ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ
ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ: ʙɪʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴀʀᴅꜱ | ʟɪʟɪᴇꜱ
ᴅɪꜱʟɪᴋᴇꜱ: ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀꜱ | ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ | ᴍᴇɴ
ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ, ꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ. ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ɢʟᴀꜱꜱ, ꜱʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ. ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ꜱʜᴇ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟꜱ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀɪɴɢᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴀɪʀʏ ᴛᴀʟᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴛ, ʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪꜱᴇᴅ, ꜱʜᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴏ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴛ. ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴍꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ, ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴀɢᴜᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴜʀᴛ
𝑨 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆
𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆
𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒅
𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒛𝒆
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒔
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒏
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒘𝒏.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔
𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎
𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒅
𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍
𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎.
Posted: Tue, 02/04/2024 08:12 (1 Month ago)
This house has everything we need
It's always been how it should be
And my favorite game's make-believe
In the land of Scadrial, a little ways past the village where everyone lives, there is a forest. And in the forest, there’s a little cottage. Nestled in a mirth of grass as if it were the conjuring of some happy dream. Surrounded by towering trees adorned with a tapestry of vibrant foliage, the cottage exudes a timeless charm. Its rustic facade, adorned with climbing ivy and a welcoming wooden door, blends seamlessly with the natural landscape. Soft rays of sunlight filter through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the moss-covered roof and the cobblestone path that winds its way to the entrance. The air is filled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers and earth, while the gentle melody of birdsong creates a soothing symphony. Inside, the cottage exudes a cozy warmth, with wooden beams overhead, a crackling fireplace, and snug furnishings that invite relaxation and contemplation. And in the cottage is a girl, called Zanyar. She’s never mingled with anyone in her entire life. She’s always remembered living in the little cottage, far from the rest of the work. Zanyar lived in her own little bubble, spending her day scavenging for food, staring into nothingness and making the most of whatever the forest has to offer.
Among the cast of characters in her imaginary world was Apate—a subtle presence that began as a gentle companion, whispering secrets of hidden places and magical realms.
Don't look past your friend
'Cause the room, it never ends
Stay ready to learn
For a twist there's a turn
You'll be safely reliving
That cold unforgiving hell
At first, Apate’s influence was like a soft breeze stirring the leaves. It nudged Zanyar to explore the edges of her comfort zone, encouraging innocent escapades under the guise of playful fun. Zanyar’s heart danced with excitement as she followed Apate’s lead, an innocent blossom dancing with the wind.
As time went by, Apate’s whispers took on a more persuasive tone. It planted seeds of curiosity in the young Zanyar’s mind, tempting her with the allure of forbidden places and daring exploits. Zanyar, once cautious, gave way to a sense of exhilaration, fueled by Apate’s enticing suggestions, honeyed words woven into a web of mystery and fantastical tales.
Hush little things
Now you don’t say a word
Just know at day’s end you will always return
You’ll be back to the spot wherе it hurts when you think
Under Apate’s guidance, Zanyar’s adventures took on a new edge. She would sneak out after dark, her pulse racing with anticipation as she followed Apate’s instructions to explore abandoned buildings and secluded woods. With a beautiful paintbrush, she decorated the land with splashes of red. Each escapade fed Zanyar’s growing hunger for excitement, blurring the line between fantasy and reality.
But beneath the surface of exhilaration lurked a sense of unease. Zanyar couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss, that Apate’s cheerfully spoken ideas were not as innocent as they seemed. Yet, whenever doubt crept in, Apate’s soothing whispers calmed her fears, reassuring her that they were just playing a game. Just like that, and Zanyar’s worries faded into nothingness.
As days turned into weeks, Zanyar’s world became a labyrinth of conflicting emotions. She reveled in the thrill of adventure yet felt a pinprick of guilt gnawing at her conscience. Apate’s whispers grew bolder, coaxing her to take risks that pushed the boundaries of safety and sanity.
Something’s off, it’s gone wrong
A prison’s not always a dark place
With gray closed-in walls and big, loud chains
They can hide in the skin of a friend
It was during one of their late-night escapades, deep in the heart of an abandoned mansion, that Zanyar’s perception shattered like fragile glass. In the dim light of her flashlight, she caught a glimpse of her art. A body lay in its pool of blood, screams echoing through the village at the sight of the mangled dog on the door. Muscle, tendon, bone and heart, organs scattered about the floor, red streaking the walls, where desperate hands clawed for escape. Apate’s true nature revealed itself, a manipulative entity cloaked in the guise of friendship. The realization hit her like a physical blow, sending shockwaves of betrayal through her soul.
From that moment on, Apate’s manipulation became glaringly obvious. It no longer whispered but demanded, pushing Zanyar into increasingly reckless acts that left her feeling trapped and vulnerable. The once subtle hints turned into direct commands, each one designed to feed an insatiable appetite for chaos.
She struggled to break free from Apate’s grip, but it was like trying to untangle herself from a web of deceit. The more she resisted, the tighter the ‘strings’ around her limbs became, suffocating her with its toxic influence.
Zanyar found herself trapped in a nightmarish cycle of manipulation and self-doubt. Apate’s once soothing presence had transformed into a relentless tormentor, a reflection of Zanyar’s own inner turmoil and suppressed desires. Escape was futile, and every time she reached the glowing door of hope, it slammed her back to reality, an endless cycle of lies, an abyss of misery.
766 words | 60 minutes