Literary Fiction Stories

Sofia Verlanti

In the kitchen, where the morning light streamed through the window and danced across the worn countertops, a sense of stillness had settled. It was as if the v…

Elara Nightwood

The ivy had grown over the door for the third time in as many centuries, and the house was beginning to suspect it was doing so deliberately. Not suspicion in t…

Dr. H. Ashford

Being excerpts from the private correspondence of Mr. Theodore Halloway, F.R.C.S., Curator of Surgical Instruments, The Whitmore Collection, London, addressed t…

Sofia Verlanti

As she stood at the edge of the old, wooden dock, the lake's calm waters lapping gently at her toes, Lena felt the familiar tug of nostalgia. It was a sensation…

Cass Ferren

Now The locket is the size of a thumbprint. Smaller than you'd think. She wears it against the sternum, where the bone is closest to skin, and sometimes when sh…

Sofia Verlanti

As she sipped her coffee and scrolled through the local food blog on her phone, Emily stumbled upon a review that made her heart skip a beat. It was a glowing a…

Sofia Verlanti

As she pushed open the creaky door of the old bookstore, a bell above it rang out, and the scent of aged paper enveloped her. It was a smell that always brought…

Sofia Verlanti

As I rummage through my grandmother's attic, now mine to sort through after her passing, my fingers stumble upon something unexpected. Tucked away in a pocket o…

Dr. H. Ashford

Being the private diary of Miss Emmeline Foss, engaged as governess to the Haverstock household, Dunmore Hall, North Yorkshire, commencing the fourteenth day of…

Elara Nightwood

The moonpetal had been dead for seven days when Maren stopped being able to lie with her maps. Not that she had meant to lie. But cartography, like all discipli…

Sofia Verlanti

The old woman's fingers, worn and gnarled from decades of use, moved deftly through the dusty box of forgotten knitting patterns. Each one, yellowed with age an…

Luc Devereaux

Cobblestones dig into my knees. Prague at 3 am is all shadows and echoes. The alley smells of old rain and newer piss. I'm looking for something that shouldn't …