Tag "Melancholy" - Works and Original stories

After the last shining ray went over the horizon, an incredible metamorphosis began in the world. The city turned into a fiery island, covered with the twinkling of thousands of stars, like precious stones scattered on black velvet. It was a time when darkness became colorful and mysterious.

In the shadow of the old garden, where time dragged slowly, a single raspberry bush grew. Its branches, like lost threads of time, stretched towards the sky, losing themselves in the boundless blue. It seemed that in every leaf there was an echo of the past, like unspoken words frozen in eternity.

"You will become The Lady when you grow up." he said quietly, apathetically following with eyes another body that fell from these endlessly high roofs. Six smiled and intertwined their fingers. Mono couldn't tell if she felt the same as he did, or if she just didn't care. He never understood anyone's expressions anyway. "You will become The Thin Man when you grow up." Six repeated almost affectionately, drawing circles on the back of his frozen palm.

On the outskirts of a quiet village stood an ancient wooden bridge, like a strange passage between two worlds. Its blackened boards seemed like old pages of a forgotten book, in which many stories are recorded, lost in time.

In the heart of a distant country, where time passes like a tired warrior after countless battles, an old fort, the guardian of mysterious memories, towered. In its walls, saturated with the smell of former wars, reflections of the past greeted guests like ghosts wandering among the ruins of memory.

In the shadow of the piano moon, where the heavens become the great ocean of night, a symphony of longing is born. Sounds, like raindrops, fall on the gray streets of memories, forming puddles in which the echoes of lost moments drown.

In the heart of the fading forest, where the rays of the sun penetrate through the old branches, lived a hermit named Ellian. His dwelling, like a monument to forgotten times, towered among tall trees, framed by the petals of withered flowers and the soft whisper of the wind.

Somewhere in the heart of the Zone, where the light does not penetrate and the wind does not whisper, a lonely stalker lives. His name has long been forgotten, as have all his friends. There is a heavy air around him, saturated with a fog of mystery and loss.