hi livy! here is pretty much everything i've added in the last few days - i figured i'd just share full proof the only things i haven't put in here are a list of my high school leadership positions (797) and some long emails (661) since those are a little doxxing. lmk if you want more info on what those included though!!


english midterm essay (1600)


“Long have these old bones waited in darkness,” muses the Storyteller in the puzzle game Monument Valley. The game itself brings the “old bones” of a century-old fairy tale into the light, reusing elements of the Brothers Grimm story “Jorinde and Joringel” to create a compelling plot and characters (Monument Valley). Though the fairy tale's influence on the game is evident, the differences between Monument Valley and the older story make it a better fit for its modern context despite some storytelling flaws.

The fairy tale and game resemble each other through their central plots, innocent main characters, and mysterious antagonists. The first major similarity can be seen in the protagonists' respective transformations. In “Jorinde and Joringel,” the girl Jorinde approaches a castle, and its resident witch punishes her, "chang into a nightingale“ (Grimm). Similarly, the end of Monument Valley shows the player character Ida forgiven for her crimes, given back her crown, and transformed into a white bird. Another similarity between the two stories is the protagonists' innocence. After Jorinde is turned into a nightingale, Joringel immediately gives up on himself and his ability to save his future wife. Distraught, he falls to his hands and knees, ”we and lament, but all in vain“ (Grimm). While he eventually regains some agency and saves Jorinde, his initial response shows that he is young, harmless, and innocent. In Monument Valley, Ida is comparably weak; after losing her memories, the ”forgetful princess confuses past, present and future“ and is subject to the movements of the crow people (Monument Valley). Finally, the two stories also feature older characters who pose challenges to the protagonists for unexplained reasons. The witch in ”Jorinde and Joringel“ has transformed thousands of young girls into nightingales. Though this does set up the plot of the fairy tale, the enchantress' true motivations remain a mystery throughout the story. The video game's Storyteller lurks at the end of tunnels in dark caverns, berating the ”foolish“ protagonist for her past choices (Monument Valley). Similarly, her identity and stake in the story are relatively unclear. The two stories align in their plot and the characterization of their protagonists and antagonists, showing the influence of ”Jorinde and Joringel“ on Monument Valley.

Despite these key similarities, though, the video game differs from the fairy tale in its plot and themes. Noticeably, the desired outcome of the characters' transformation is different in each story. After being trapped by the enchantress in the form of a bird, Jorinde wants nothing more than to escape. When she returns to her human form, she is ”more beautiful than ever,“ showing her relief at regaining her desired form (Grimm). However, in Monument Valley, Ida's goal is to return to her true form as a bird. As a punishment, she was transformed into a human–she faced the opposite fate as Jorinde. Another difference between the two stories is that the fairy tale's sexist characterization is not present in Monument Valley. In the Brothers Grimm story, Jorinde is confined to a cage for an undisclosed amount of time, forced to wait for her husband-to-be to return and rescue her. She has no power to free herself; it is only Joringel who can ”tur all the other birds again into maidens“ with a magical flower (Grimm). Conversely, in Monument Valley, it is up to Ida alone to save herself. While she is helped along in her quest by the friendly Totem, Ida ultimately completes her quest without depending entirely on a man, proving herself to be, unlike Jorinde, an independent and self-reliant female protagonist. Ida's increased independence leads to a third major difference: Monument Valley gives its character clearer and more relevant motivations for completing her quest. In the fairy tale, a witch transforms Jorinde into a bird because she comes too close to the castle. While the results of the punishment are intriguing and spur Joringel into action, its cause feels arbitrary–anyone could have met the same fate. Monument Valley gives Ida a much clearer goal: after she commits a theft, she is punished by losing her true form and her voice and must return the items that she stole. Like the monuments she passes by on her journey, Ida feels as if she has been ”stripped of glories,“ and she strives to return to life as a princess among the birds (Monument Valley). Unlike Jorinde's punishment, Ida's transformation is caused by deliberate reasoning backed up by her past choices. The direction of the protagonists' change in form does not significantly impact the plot, but reduced sexism and increased logical reasoning for the central transformation make Monument Valley's story a clear improvement over ”Jorinde and Joringel.“

Despite the game's overall improvement over the fairy tale, it is not without its flaws. Importantly, Monument Valley ends with a startling twist in Ida's transformation into a bird. Though the princess' true form is hinted at through details within the game–her reflection in a mirror is shown as the white bird she ultimately becomes–and some dialogue–the Storyteller tells Ida, ”when all sacred geometry is returned, so too shall be your crown“–it is still extraordinarily difficult for players to predict (Monument Valley). The transformation shown in the game's final scene is presented beautifully, but the storytelling that lies behind it falls a little flat. Clearly, Ida wants to regain something that she has lost, but it is never made clear that the life she wants to return to will require a transformation into a completely different form. Since the crows that she later seems to rule over are presented as ”troublesome“ antagonists, the conclusion is made even more unexpected (Monument Valley). Throughout the game, the princess's background could have been made slightly more clear. Increased foreshadowing would have allowed players to feel a stronger connection to Ida and her goals, rooting for her throughout rather than being puzzled by her final transformation. ”Jorinde and Joringel“ provides a good starting point for this change–its plot, other than the witch's motivations, is extremely clear and understandable. Incorporating some of the fairy tale's clarity could lessen the confusion caused by Ida's unexplained origins. However, the central mystery is an integral aspect of the game and should not be removed entirely. Simply including a few more hints towards Ida's true identity could improve players' experience without compromising the gradual reveal of other story details. 

Another potential direction for improvement in Monument Valley is in the relationship between Ida and her occasional partner, the Totem. Towards the middle of the story, the Totem appears to help Ida reach new locations within the game. It fulfills a role similar to Joringel in the fairy tale–both characters support a girl in the process of returning to her true form. Unlike Joringel, though, the Totem disappears in the game's final levels. Thankfully, this allows Ida to complete her quest alone rather than promoting sexist gender roles by assuming that she could not succeed on her own. Despite this advantage caused by the Totem's departure, the overall relationship between it and Ida does not tie into the game's overall themes. The story as a whole follows Ida as she searches for forgiveness, repenting for her past crimes by returning the ”sacred geometry“ that she had stolen (Monument Valley). Ida's past actions show her to be a selfish character, taking precious objects for her own gain. One would assume that her character development would center around becoming less self-obsessed and acting generously towards others. But when Ida meets ”the Totem, a friend,“ in the game's sixth level, she immediately reverts to her old ways (Monument Valley). Rather than valuing the Totem's assistance and forming a reciprocal relationship, she instead uses it for its unique abilities and even allows it to die when it follows her into the ocean. Ida continually takes advantage of the Totem without offering it anything in return, invalidating the central plot of her quest for forgiveness. This unfortunate power dynamic puts the Totem in a subservient position, showing that Ida has not overcome the selfishness that characterized her earlier actions. Though to a lesser degree than the very underdeveloped Jorinde in the Grimms' fairy tale, Ida feels like an incomplete character. While the game's conclusion shows Ida's physical transformation, her relationship with the Totem shows that she lacks a comparable mental and emotional change. This flaw could have been counteracted by including the Totem in later levels of the game and allowing Ida to assist it in some way. A plot point such as this would provide a stronger conclusion to both characters' arcs without risking the reintroduction of sexist themes from ”Jorinde and Joringel,“ which might arise if the Totem instead saved Ida again. Showing a stronger reciprocal relationship between Ida and the Totem would clarify the princess' quest and character development, validating her final transformation and pardon for her crimes.

Monument Valley reuses several key aspects of ”Jorinde and Joringel,“ featuring similar central plot points and characters. Through allowing Ida to complete her quest on her own and giving her more logical motivations, Monument Valley brings the fairy tale into the modern world. While the game does have some flaws–its ending lacks impact due to the shock value of Ida's transformation and the inconsistent relationship between the princess and the Totem–these weaknesses could easily be resolved through minor changes. Even with these flaws, though, Monument Valley marks a clear improvement over ”Jorinde and Joringel," showing that it has successfully brought the bones of this fairy tale out of the darkness of its past.




english hw (385 and 844 added in two chunks, very messy outline and a sample paragraph)

• Intro
⁃ Hook
⁃ Introduce stories—Monument Valley and “Jorinde and Joringel”
⁃ Thesis
⁃
• Body paragraph 1: Similarities
⁃ Establish the two stories
⁃ Key similarity 1
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Both feature birds being transformed into people, or the other way around
⁃ Evidence
⁃ “Joringel looked up at Jorinde. She had been changed into a nightingale, who was singing ‘jug, jug.’” JJ
⁃ At the end of MV, Ida transforms into a white bird, presumably a crow, and regains her place as a princess among the birds
⁃ Key similarity 2
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Innocence of main characters
⁃ Evidence
⁃ In JJ, the two characters immediately give up on themselves when Jorinde is transformed into a bird: “He called after her, he wept and lamented, but all in vain. ‘What is to become of me!’ he thought.”
⁃ In MV, the princess has lost all of her memories—she is a pretty weak character, unable to move past the crows and unable to remember her own past
⁃ Key similarity 3
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Both stories feature an older character with mysterious motivations
⁃ Evidence
⁃ The witch in JJ keeps 7000 girls transformed into birds in her castle, and it's never revealed why exactly she does this. “if a pretty girl came within this boundary, the old enchantress changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a wicker cage, which she put in one of the rooms in the castle”
⁃ In MV, the storyteller gives mysterious riddles to the main character, alternating between helping and harming her. It's unclear who she is and what her stake in the story might be. Calls Ida foolish/thieving/forgetful, “Those who stole our sacred geometry have forgotten their true selves. / Cursed to walk those monuments are they. / Foolish princess, have you forgotten too?”
⁃ How the above proves that the stories are related
⁃ While JJ may not have been a direct influence on MV, they certainly do have a lot of similarities! Three major elements of the story—the plot, characterization of the protagonist, and minor characters—are very similar to each other.
• Body paragraph 2: Differences
⁃ Key difference 1
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Direction of transformation is different—readers want Jorinda to turn back into a human, but players of MV want Ida to find her true identity, which turns out to be as a bird
⁃ Evidence
⁃ Key difference 2
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Ida doesn't rely on a man to solve her problems!
⁃ Evidence
⁃ Key difference 3
⁃ Introduce
⁃ Somewhat connected—the character has an actual goal—she is searching for forgiveness and repenting for her earlier crimes/theft. This makes her journey make more sense because it's actually under her control, not confusing or arbitrary
⁃ Evidence
⁃ Discuss whether changes make the modern version better or worse
⁃ These changes definitely make it better—they reduce sexism and make the plot feel more intentional
• Body paragraph 3: Flaw 1 and recommended fix
⁃ Key flaw 1
⁃ Evidence
⁃ The ending is very surprising—would be very difficult for players to predict
⁃ Why it's a flaw
⁃ While it is presented beautifully, it falls a little flat because there is little to hint that this is what's going to happen
⁃ Impact on the story
⁃ Makes it less compelling, players may feel a disconnect with the central character.
⁃ Recommendation 1
⁃ Identify recommendation
⁃ Make Ida's background a little clearer earlier on
⁃ Why this fix would help the story
⁃ The game as a whole is a little vague, but making this one point clearer would help to tie the whole thing together
⁃ Would also help to avoid readers' confusion
⁃ The mystery is definitely a highlight as a whole, don't get me wrong there!!
• Body paragraph 4: Flaw 2 and recommended fix
⁃ Key flaw 2
⁃ Evidence
⁃ More development of the totem as a character!
⁃ Why it's a flaw
⁃ Fulfills a similar role to Joringel in the fairy tale, though they disappear towards the end, thankfully leaving Ida to solve her problems on her own. However, their storyline feels incomplete due to their disappearance towards the end
⁃ Impact on the story
⁃ While their ending is rather sad, it doesn't tie into the overall theme of the princess's quest for forgiveness. In fact, it kind of does the opposite, showing that she is willing to use a potential friend's abilities without giving them much in return. The totem is willing to die for her (though it does eventually come back, continuing to serve her!), but again, she doesn't really reciprocate
⁃ Recommendation 2
⁃ Identify recommendation
⁃ Incorporating the totem into later levels would help to improve the overall theme of the game, clarifying Ida's quest and character development throughout
⁃ Why this fix would help the story
⁃ Like Jorinde in JJ, Ida feels kind of like an incomplete character; how she changes throughout the story (in ways other than physical transformation) is hinted at but not made evident through her actions. To clarify this, MV should have shown that her transformation was not just physical, but also mental.
• Conclusion
⁃ Reconnect the two stories
⁃ Is the modern version an improvement on the classic version?
⁃ Restate thesis in different words


While Blanca & Roja does show a marked improvement over “Snow-White and Rose-Red” by the Brothers Grimm, the novel still could be improved in terms of its romantic relationships and overly flowery language. Though Blanca & Roja is promoted as a feminist retelling of the original fairy tale, it somewhat misses the mark because of its strong focus on romantic relationships. Much of the latter two thirds of the novel is devoted to developing the romances between Blanca and Page and Roja and Barclay. Both relationships do somewhat help to characterize the protagonists, but they also remove the focus on the sisterly bond that featured heavily in “Snow-White and Rose-Red” and was supposed to be at the novel's center. To improve upon this flaw, McLemore could have retained the characters of Page and Barclay but devoted less space in the novel to their romances. Perhaps the relationship between Roja and Barclay, which felt unnecessary on both characters' parts and added little to the overall plot, could have been removed altogether. If McLemore had realized that not every female character needs to have a romantic relationship to further their personal development, she could have used the pages once devoted to romance to instead strengthen the connection between Blanca and Roja, making the sisters' argument towards the end of the novel even more compelling. Another major flaw in the novel is its excessive use of purple prose. Throughout the book, McLemore uses many metaphors and other forms of figurative language, which begin to feel repetitive and unnecessary. While some of these literary devices contribute to characterization, the constant floweriness of the prose not only is exhausting to read, but also feels out of place coming from the points of view of four teenagers. The occasional metaphor or simile could certainly add to the reading experience of Blanca & Roja, but the sheer number of them start to detract from the story and become a major flaw. McLemore could have expressed the protagonists' thoughts a little more clearly. Reducing the overly elaborate prose would not only eliminate this flaw, but it would also make the figurative language that remained all the more impactful and memorable to readers. If McLemore had decreased both the importance of romantic relationships and the presence of flowery language in her novel, the remaining story would provide the feminist retelling that it promised while retaining the clarity of the original fairy tale.



planning a story/answering questions about the plot/chatacyers (750)

What's your story about?
Strange silvery lines appear in the sky overnight, stretching down to the earth's surface as strands of an unbreakable physical substance. Worldwide, governments issue an order to shelter in place, unsure where the strands came from or what may come out of them next. High schooler Gloria, her younger sister, and her parents are staying in a hotel while their home is being tented for termites, and they are trapped in a small room that they planned to only stay in for a few nights. In the chaos of the days that follow the arrival of the threads, Gloria must make allies and enemies among the others confined to the hotel, repair a tenuous relationship with her ex-best friend Caleb, and perhaps learn the secrets of the Lace.

If the main character got a tattoo, what would it be?
Gloria would probably be interested in getting a tattoo at some point in her life, though she thinks she's a little young for it currently. Earlier in her life, she would have absolutely said that she wanted something that matched with Caleb with some sort of inside joke on it, but now, she thinks they've grown apart and that he wants nothing to do with her. At the time the story starts, she would maybe get a tattoo of some bird species that's meaningful to her, since she likes birdwatching. The birds pretty much go silent at the time the Lace touches down, and those that do fly often bump into the strands and fall.

What is the main character's first memory?
The first time she saw her sister, Ingrid. She might have some flickers of memories before this time, but this is the first memory that really stuck. I think a four year age gap would be sufficient—so maybe Gloria is 16 and Ingrid is 12 when the story starts? First memory being at four means that Gloria wouldn't remember too much of her childhood—maybe she doesn't have a great memory in general about her own life, but she's GREAT at remembering details about other people she knows. If you tell her something, she won't forget it!

What's the best—or worse—advice the main character has ever given or gotten?
She's pretty young, so she's probably received more good advice than she's gotten. While it's a little generic, I think “stand up for what you believe in” is something she's really taken to heart. When she believes in something, she will do everything in her power to support it. This applied in a good way when she started getting into birdwatching and started learning everything she could about it. She started volunteering for the local parks and giving tours on the weekends, telling visitors about the different types of birds that they could see when they walked around.
However, this also applied in a not-great way with her relationship with Caleb. They had a big argument, and she totally misinterpreted something he said. She believes that she deserves respect, and so she cut him off because she felt he wasn't giving her the respect she deserved. While this was understandable to her at the time, it's gone on pretty long; longer than it would have if she hadn't believed so strongly in this advice.

What kinds of clothes do the characters wear?
Gloria LOVES nature, so I imagine she'd dress in lots of browns and greens, not overtly like camouflage but kind of hinting at it. People often give her bird/nature related things as gifts, and as a result of this she has a lot of shirts and jewelry (mostly necklaces and bracelets) with different bird-related images. She always is wearing something bird-related. She is also very big on pockets, and she wears a lot of those cargo pants with many deep pockets.
Ingrid's favorite color is purple. She wears all purple, all the time. Her family isn't extremely happy about this, but whatever makes Ingrid happy will usually go!
Caleb likes to dress up a little more, which is a bit out of the ordinary in their area. He wears a lot of dark pants and collared shirts, and he cares a lot about his appearance and looking well-dressed. He maintains this through the shelter in place. This is kind of the opposite of Gloria's typical behavior! He also wears glasses with gold frames.




astronomy hw (597)

If the sun and stars are supported by gas pressure, what supports a neutron star?

Just as white dwarves are supported by degenerate electrons, neutron stars are supported by degenerate neutrons. These neutrons can support the massive amounts of density within a neutron star, preventing it from collapsing inwards. The neutron star itself is the remnants of a star after a supernova explosion; the explosion itself causes the core to collapse, breaking apart its atomic nuclei and forcing these neutrons to form.
However, degenerate neutrons cannot support an infinite amount of density–this limits the size of a neutron star to less than approximately eight solar masses.


If neutron stars contain no nuclear fuel, why are they hot?

The initial collapse of a star makes it incredibly hot–a massive star could reach temperatures of nearly a trillion degrees! Once it has collapsed, heat leaves the star in the form of neutrinos, which escape from the star and carry away heat energy. This process cools the star down significantly.
After that point, while the neutron star does continue to cool, it happens much more slowly. Once the star reaches about a million degrees, the only way heat can escape is through the surface of the star, which, because the average neutron star has a radius of only ten kilometers, takes a long time.


Why does our theory predict that neutron stars will spin rapidly?

Neutron stars spin rapidly because of a physics principle, the conservation of angular momentum. When a star collapses, its radius becomes much smaller, and it must rotate faster. The textbook gives the example of an ice skater spinning–they spin slowly when their arms are extended, but when they pull their arms inward, effectively decreasing the radius of their rotation, they start to spin much faster. The same thing happens within a neutron star, and depending on the scale of its collapse, it may be begin to rotate as quickly as 2000 times per second.


What observational evidence do we have that black holes exist?

Black holes do not allow light to escape; therefore, they cannot be directly observed at visible or any other wavelengths. However, astronomers do have some methods to predict where black holes might be. As a piece of matter approaches a black hole, it heats up significantly, usually enough to produce X-rays before falling within the event horizon. Because of this fact, astronomers can recognize that areas of space that emit a lot of X-rays may be black holes. Areas like this are more common in binary systems, where a companion star is consistently feeding bits of its mass to a black hole, providing a steady source of X-rays.
One problem is that we can't assume that everything in space that emits X-rays is a black hole–neutron stars have similar emissions. However, we can tell the difference between the two objects because neutron stars emit pulses through their magnetic fields, but black holes do not. Appropriately sizes sources of X-rays that do not have pulses fit astronomers' descriptions of black holes.


How are neutron stars and white dwarfs similar?

Both are remnants of larger stars after they collapse. They are no longer true stars because they do not emit energy of their own, but they still are burning the energy or fuel that was created at the ends of their stars' lives. Both are also supported by some form of degenerate matter–degenerate electrons support white dwarves, and degenerate neutrons support neutron stars. This degenerate matter forms the cores of both objects, keeping them from further collapsing inwards.



three three-sentence stories (300) (these are really bad LOL, based on random words/phrases and written in three mins each)

wedge and trumpet

I was so tired of practicing my trumpet—I’d played the same song over and over for weeks now, and it still sounded terrible. There was only one possible solution: I would have to unexpectedly ‘lose’ it. When my parents were away, I set the plan in motion, climbing up to the attic, wedging the trumpet in a corner, and returning down the ladder; later, when I tried to explain the trumpet’s mysterious disappearance to my parents, they recognized immediately what I had done—my clothes were still coated in dust from the attic.



Finnish pair wins a barrel of _____ in annual ________ contest in England


Finnish pair wins a barrel of spiders in annual bug-hunting contest in England

The winners of the annual bug-hunting contest have finally been announced: this Finnish pair managed to find an incredible forty-eight insect species in the woods during the hour-long competition, twelve more types than the second-place winner. They approached the podium to claim the grand prize, curious what was inside the massive barrel that had been sitting in the sun all day, and were urged to open it by the judges.



Flute and cobra

It had been a while since I’d played my flute—I had left it up on a high shelf and forgotten about it for weeks, but now seemed like the perfect time to pick it back up. It felt heavier than I remembered when I held it, and when I blew into one end, the air just puffed right back out at me. Confused, I blew harder to the same results, then peered inside of the flute, wondering if perhaps some dust had gathered in the hollow in the center of the flute: I was shocked to see a cobra stretched out inside, staring back at me.



collab story contribution (200)

With one last reluctant look towards the school, towards the principal's office where she knew she was supposed to be, Renee pulled herself to her feet. She wiped her bleeding hand on her jeans, wincing at the dark red stain that it left on the fabric, and turned towards the woods. Luckily, tracking the creature wouldn't be a problem. In its wake, it had left a trail of inky black prints, their shape a blend between a cat's paws and a lizard's toe pads. But as Renee watched, the ink began to sink downwards, fading out until it dissolved smoothly into the soil. Perhaps this wouldn't be as simple as she'd thought. Trying to catch up to the rapidly disappearing trail of paw-pad-prints, Renee raced into the woods, careful to avoid tripping over any other protruding rocks. Under the shade cast by the tall oak trees, the prints didn't stand out as much against the dirt, and Renee had to squint to see which direction the creature had headed. Her long legs worked to her advantage–within minutes, she could hear the rustles of the creature in the bushes before her. Now, the only issue would be to capture it.




random short story wip (139, 1000, and 600 added in three chunks)

The calligraphy class I'd signed up for at the community center was already so much worse than I'd expected.
My hands had been itching to draw all day, but the entire first lesson consisted of an hour-long lecture about letter forms. The teacher talked so slowly that by the time he got to the end of a sentence, I had already forgotten where he'd started. On top of that, I'd already been assigned a long list of materials that I would need to complete my homework, from fancy pens to thick paper to my own bottle of ink. I'd expected that the teacher would provide the materials for us, but evidently they hadn't been included for in the class registration fee.
After class, I decided to head down the street to my favorite antique store. While they specialized in odd trinkets from around the world, the man who owned it seemed to always have exactly the items I needed.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, the sketchbook inside still sadly empty, and headed out of the community center. The sky was filled with dark clouds—it looked like it was going to rain. I hurried down the sidewalk, careful as I crossed the street but trying to get inside before the downpour began.
Luckily, the store was just a couple blocks away, and I made it inside just as the first raindrops started to fall. The bell on the door tinkled welcomingly, and Mr. Arnolds looked up from the rusted cup that he was examining when he heard me enter.
“Ah, Mira!” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he squinted towards me. “What can I help you with today?”
I walked up to the desk, pulling the class supply list out of my pocket and sliding it towards Mr. Arnolds with a grimace. At least his prices were usually reasonable—all the money I had on me was five dollars, the remainder of my weekly allowance.
“Paper, calligraphy pens…” muttered Mr. Arnolds. “Just give me a moment.”
I nodded, shrugging off my backpack and setting it on the floor.
He rummaged in the drawers under the desk, and less than a minute passed before he pulled out a beautiful gold-tipped pen and a pad of thick paper. “Will these be alright?”
I picked up the pen, admiring how its tip shone in the warm light of the story. “Of course!”
“Wonderful!” The corners of his mouth crinkled as he smiled. “Is there anything else you need?”
I looked back at the list, mentally crossing off the paper and pens. “Just a bottle of ink!”
At the word ink, Mr. Arnolds' smile immediately faded. His expression was unreadable, the line of his mouth as thin and hard as if I'd drawn it with a fine-tipped pen. “Are you certain about that, Mira?”
My eyebrows furrowed. “Do you not have any?” In the years I'd been coming to this shop, he'd never failed to provide the very items that I needed.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly considering his words very carefully. “I have a single bottle,” he finally said. “If you truly need it, I can give it to you.”
Though the whole situation was a little confusing, I nodded. The next calligraphy class was just two days away, and I didn't know where else in town I could find ink as fancy as whatever Mr. Arnolds probably had.
Again, Mr. Arnolds reached down to search the drawers under his desk. This time, it took him several minutes to find what he was looking for.
After some time, though, he pulled out a bottle. Its surface shimmered with gold, the same as the tip of the pen he had handed me earlier. The label stuck to the side was peeling up at the edges; the paper it was made of looked ancient, and I couldn't even tell what language the words written on it were in.
“How much does this cost?” I asked, admiring the
“It's on me,” Mr. Arnolds said. “I've been trying to get this off my hands for some time now, and I'm sure you'll be the perfect person to take it.”
I thank him enthusiastically, but still slip a couple dollars into his tip jar—I barely ever see other customers in the store, and I would've felt bad if I walked away without paying for it.
Mr. Arnolds reached out to the bottle of ink, but snatched his hand back before he could touch it. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at me worriedly. “Take good care of it, Mira.”
I smiled at him. “Of course! I'll show you some of my class assignments later on.”
I placed the pen and paper into my backpack, but decided that the bottle itself will be safer in my hands—my bag always jostled around when I walked. With a final thanks to Mr. Arnolds, I walk outside, happy to see that the rain had already ended.
The walk home had an uneventful start; I headed back towards the community center and towards the row of houses beyond where I lived. It seemed like it had rained quite a bit, though, and puddles were scattered all over the street and sidewalks.
A car drove past, its wheels splashing through a particularly giant puddle in the middle of the road. I dodged the wave of water that it kicked up, stepping towards the grass beside the sidewalk and directly into a massive pit of mud.
Before I could stop myself, my feet were sliding out from under me, my arms were pinwheeling around me, and I was suddenly flat on my back in the mud-soaked grass. I was a little winded, but I didn't feel hurt anywhere.
Immediately I thought of the bottle of ink, which somewhere in the process of falling slipped out of my hands. I pushed myself to a seated position and scanned my surroundings.
Fortunately, I saw a flash of gold right next to me; the bottle hadn't gone far. Unfortunately, though, it was on its side with the cap off, and golden ink was steadily flowing out of the bottle, seeping into the dirt. Even worse, specks of it were scattered all over my pants! I didn't know what I would tell my parents—I wasn't usually this clumsy, and I knew I should have been more careful walking home after the rainstorm that had just passed.
And not to mention Mr. Arnolds, who had been so insistent that I take care of the bottle! What would I say to him?
Before I could let the worries consume me, I turned the bottle upright, hoping I could salvage what little remained of the ink. I could at least hear a bit of it still sloshing around inside, and I hoped it would be enough to get through at least the next couple weeks of calligraphy class. In the process, I smeared even more of the ink onto my fingertips.
Perhaps, I decided, the bottle would be safer in my backpack. And I could put it in an interior pocket, so even if I had another unfortunate fall, there would be no more stains to try to explain away.
I pulled myself to my feet, ready to trudge the last block towards home. As I walked, I tried to wipe the ink off of my fingers, but as much as I scrubbed at them with the other hand, it seemed to be stuck. Not only that, the ink stains seemed to rub off on my other hand when I touched them, the gold spreading until it covered almost all of my fingertips. Though it did look quite pretty, I would have to get it off before school tomorrow—I could try again when I got home with a sponge and some stronger soap.
I walked up to the front porch and opened the door, leaving a smudge of gold on the brass doorknob. Mentally, I added that to my list of things to clean up later.
“I'm home!” I called out, though I knew the house would be empty since my parents were still out for lunch.
Shortcake, my family's calico cat, came out of his bed to say hello, tail held high in greeting. I wanted desperately to pet him, but I also didn't want to smear any ink on him. He hated baths, and I probably wouldn't be able to get the color out of his fur for a while.
After setting down my backpack to be unloaded later, I headed straight for the sink. I used my elbow to turn on the faucet, not wanting to risk yet another part of the house getting stained, and put my hands under the hot water. When nothing seemed to change, I added a pump of dish soap, figuring that it would be stronger than our usual hand soap. Within seconds, the frothy bubbles were shimmering with gold. Perhaps that meant the ink was rubbing off.
I washed the soap foam off, feeling hopeful, but my heart sank when I saw that the stains were still there. They'd continued to cover every part of my hands that I'd touched; almost every patch of skin up to my wrists was golden. Clearly the soap had been a failure.
My next idea was the sponge, which I grabbed, trying to touch the smallest area of it as possible. The ink still seeped into the corner, but it luckily didn't spread beyond that, at least until I touched it to my golden hand. The moment the sponge met my skin, even with a thin layer of shimmering soap in between the two, it too appeared as if it were dipped in gold.
At this point, I'd resigned myself to the idea that the ink would not be coming off with a good scrub. I set down the sponge and used my elbow to turn the sink off.
Looking worriedly at the spots of shimmering gold I had left all across my house, I suddenly remembered the story of King Midas, which I'd read in my literature class's unit on allusions. A sinking feeling rising in my stomach, I remembered how terribly the situation had turned out for the king. It seemed, at least, that my own golden touch was simply infusing the shiny ink into objects, not literally transforming them into gold.



lit journal feedback (251)

Dear Editor's Name,
Thank you so much for your commentary on “the piece's name!” I really enjoyed seeing what you had to say about this piece, and I also love the “trinkets tinkle while she talks” line. Something that stood out to me in your commentary was your use of questions—that is such a great way to get the author thinking about their piece and potential directions to take their edits. You also did an incredible job providing clear feedback to the Junior Editors!
I noticed that you mentioned that the action in the piece could have been “more engaging” in your Rationale for Accept/Reject. While I might have been missing something, I didn't see that same note repeated in your General Commentary. I would definitely suggest that you make sure all the main points from your Rationale are brought up to the author in your commentary since they are valuable suggestions that could help them improve!
I also had a couple of tips for formatting your comments! When you submit, I would generally recommend to put your own feedback at the bottom with the JE's commentary above it. Also, it's not necessary to include the JEs' names in your submission. This isn't a huge deal, but I thought I'd point it out since I don't have many content-related points for improvement.
Overall, though, great work on your commentary! Thank you for your time, and I hope to work with you on another piece in the future.
-My Name


letters (1000)

Dear Fini,
It's been so long since we've talked!! How have you been? I see you're in Lyric this session, how has that been going? :0
I for one have been incredibly busy this semester! I'm a senior in high school, and so much is going on with college applications and school stuff and trying to figure out where my family is going to move in like three months (I'm planning to live off campus with my parents at whatever school I end up at <3)…so so many decisions need to be made! And it is very difficult to make any of them because I am *still* waiting to hear back from half of the schools I've applied to!
Aside from the stressful stuff, though, I also have some fun classes! I helped start a journalism club at an online class provider that I've been doing English with since 8th grade, and we just got our third issue sent out to the student body. People seem to be enjoying it so far, and I've felt so much more connected to the community through all the outreach and interviews we've done—I'm so happy to be part of it!
I am also taking an advanced research writing class at my community college, which is a ton of work (it's week 8 and I've written just over 30k words for assignments…) but still fun. The professor is great; she is really into fairy tales so the main assignment that the class is built around is studying a particular archetype, how it's been presented in fairy tales/myths/legends/whatever over time, and how we'd recommend it be used for future retellings in different forms of media. I love the musical Hadestown, so the archetype that I chose is basically the plot of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice The research has been so much fun, I got to read some Ancient Roman and Middle English poetry, connect the archetype to Romeo and Juliet (which has the exact same plot when you think about it!! crazy!), and write a bit about Hadestown and the directions it takes the story. It's a great class, I could ramble about the research I'm doing for a very long time LOL.
Calculus is the only class I am not really enjoying. I am doing the course self-paced, and I think I need to speed up a bit to be ready for the AP exam in May—I still have two chapters left to get through!! Hopefully I will finish everything in time!
How has school been going for you? Do you have any favorite classes or extracurriculars from this year?
Also, I was just looking at your profile page—is the quote in your bio from Babel by any chance? I haven't read that book for a while, but I really really enjoyed it and have been meaning to reread it! Have you read any other interesting books/stories recently?
Looking forward to your response,
Moss




Dear Waterfall,
I just ate a third of a jelly donut!! My family eats gluten free, and GF donuts are very rare finds, so I've been looking forward to this all day xD It was so good; I am now very happy and ready to write my letter!
The pen pal thing seems like such a cool project and addition to SWC! I've been somewhat watching the polar bear team put the whole thing together, but I wasn't 100% sure what was happening, so it's cool to see the final result! A year or so ago, Zai and I exchanged some handwritten (and photographed, not actually physically mailed!) letters—that was super fun, but neither of us had the motivation to continue for very long unfortunately. I like the incentive of the points and the time frame of the session, though!
Anyways, I am looking forward to talking with you this month Do you have any conversational topics you particularly enjoy? I usually enjoy discussing school/classes, writing-related stuff occasionally, books, and musicals, and since I don't think we've talked much before, I am definitely excited to hear about things you are interested in as well!
I see that you are co-leading Fantasy this session, that's super exciting! How has the cabin been doing so far this month? I'd love to know a bit about your cabin plot! Honestly, I haven't been doing the best job keeping track of SWC stuff so far this session—it'll be my last as host and I wanted to try to be more active than usual, but my mountain of homework/college tasks/extracurricular stuff has other plans :') I have been working on a 2k word research paper this week, and I only had time to do my first bit of actual creative writing last night…
Next week is spring break, though, so hopefully I will have some more free time by then! However, I will probably use most of my spring break catching up on my self-paced calculus class—I'm not behind per se, but I have two chapters left and the AP exam is quickly approaching, so it would be nice to finish earlier rather than later so that I can have more time to review/study some of the difficult topics! How is school going for you? Are there any subjects you particularly enjoy/dislike?
Also, I was looking at your profile and saw that you are “finishing many auditions”—what sort of things are you auditioning for? I see some singing-related things in your projects, too :0 Are you part of the s-pop group/community? I learned about that pretty recently and was so amazed by all of the different groups and projects and storylines—there are so many talented people on Scratch!!
I should probably be getting to bed soon. My mom and I are flying home from a weekend trip tomorrow, and we need to get up early so that we can pack.
Have a good night!
Moss



random flash fiction thing (352)

I lay curled beneath the earth, waiting for warmth to come.
I did not know how long I had been here, nestled among fine roots and miniature rocks and disintegrating leaves. The soil around me was damp and dark, but it comforted me; it was the only home I knew.
Heat radiated downwards through the roots of my family members, through every speck of dirt packed around me. I felt thin tendrils of sunlight penetrate the outside of my protective coat, signaling to my body that the day had begun.
I pressed upwards, slowly pushing the dirt out of my path as I rose. I unraveled as I grew, stretching taller and taller, further and further from the casing I had once lived inside of. Below me, I could feel my own roots, becoming thicker and stronger by the day. The higher I climbed, the warmer the soil surrounding me became. I could feel the sun on my face just a few layers of dirt above me, and I forced myself to move faster.
Finally, I pushed through the surface.
Light surrounded me, and in the the sudden brightness I could barely take in the colors of the world above. I had developed among shades of brown and grey, but now I found myself in a field of green and pink and blue, hues more vibrant than I'd ever imagined.
Despite the unexpectedness of this new environment, though, I immediately felt at home. I looked down at the dirt I had come from, recognizing at last my own stem, as vibrantly green as the blades of grass that surrounded me, as sturdy as the stems of the flowers I now recognized as my family. I turned away from the ground, ready to push myself as far as I could towards the sun.
At last, my time had come to bloom.

Weekly 2
welcome to the worst weekly ever! i had no motivation to write at all so this is super rushed and super bad <3
2041 words
Part 1

Exposition: There are a group of people called the Murmurs. They are the last people in the Kingdom of Fahrendor who have any last traces of magic. However, in order to harness their powers, they each have a clockwork familiar. The two creatures must be touching in order to call their power, and cannot be separated for more than a week until the strains of being apart overpower them. Fahrendor City is a hostile place where magic is forbidden. Anyone who is found with magic disappears without a trace. There are people in the city known as Marauders who aim to discover every last Murmur. Most Murmurs wander the kingdom as loners, outcasts, hoping to never be found, hiding away in desolate corners of the land.
However, in an old crumbling stone house nestled into the country in the outskirts of Fahrendro, is a safehouse for the Murmur children. They live there in peace, learning how to defend themselves from Marauders and how to harness their powers. The children know this place as the Haven.
Rising Action: One day, the children wake up and discover that their clockwork familiars have disappeared. Every last one of them. The children are already feeling the effects of being far away from their familiars and they can feel the distress of them. The adults at the Haven accompany the children on a journey to find their familiars before it’s too late. They travel through the peaceful lands, the landscapes slowly growing more urban, occasionally bumping into travellers along the way.
Climax: The children and adults reach Fahrendor City and are led to an intimidating castle where their familiars are. They creep inside and spot their familiars trapped inside cages. However, they are met by a group of Marauders who attack them viciously and attempt to lock them up. A mysterious lady dressed in a crimson cloak appears from the shadows, clicks her fingers, and the soldiers disappear into the mist. The lady explains that she is the Cloak, a Murmur with a special power to harness other people’s powers. She has a companion who has the ability to summon familiars and so that was why the familiars disappeared. However, this was supposed to lead them to a safehouse in the suburbs of the city, but instead they were taken off course by a Murmur who is being controlled by the Marauders.
Falling Action: The lady says that she called them so that they could join her rebellion against the Marauders in order to allow people to leave alongside the Murmurs in peace.
Resolution: A battle ensues a few years later and the Marauders are left with no other choice but to surrender, being attacked by their own people, who are all angry not just at how they hunted the Murmurs but how they controlled the citizens of Fahrendor in general. The story ends back in the Haven, where magic is no longer forbidden and now it is starting to become more common.
Main Character: This story will be narrated by a character called Phoebe, a girl of fifteen who has lived in the Haven her whole life.


Part 2

In the Kingdom of Fahrendor, magic has been forbidden for centuries. Generations of people known as the Magicians, those who can harness powers such as controlling oceans, summoning fire, disappearing into shadows with the help of their clockwork familiars, have slowly dwindled into smaller and smaller numbers. Their magic is diminishing and now those people are known as the Murmurs, those who can only summon small sparks of magic when in contact with their clockwork familiars. Soldiers known as Marauders control Fahrendor, with their sole aim to find and destroy all Murmurs. To banish magic once and for all.

However, there is still hope. Hidden away in a corner of the kingdom, nestled amongst rolling hills and cerulean ocean, is an old crumbling house known as the Haven. A place where children who have inherited powers from their parents can learn how to defend themselves against Marauders and harness their own powers. But one day… it all went wrong.

_________________________________________________________________________

I blink as sunlight filters in through the windows, casting pale beams across the room. I lift my head, still groggy with sleep and catch sight of the other children, some snoring in their beds, some just beginning to wake. I swing my legs over the side of my bed, shivering in my thin pyjamas and I begin to trudge to the bathroom, yawning. Then I notice something strange. There’s a hollow feeling in my gut. Something’s wrong.

Where’s Mimi?

I turn around quickly and rush to my bed. I can feel that she’s gone. She can’t be though. Can she? I scramble over my mattress, hoping to find her in her nest, her wings folded neatly over her body and… she’s not there. It’s empty.
Panic begins to tingle through me. Where did she go? She can’t be away for long - we’ll die! I hear confused noises from the other children.
“Where’s Luca?
Where’s Kai?”
“They’re all gone!”
I stop, startled. All of the familiars. Gone? I have to tell the others.

I wrench the door open and hurtle down the stairs, my heart pounding urgently in my chest. They can’t all be gone. I burst open the first door I see and catch sight of Kara, one of the adult Murmurs who takes care of us, asleep in her bed. I run over and shake her by the shoulders. She frowns and lifts her head, her hair rumpled, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
“Phoebe… what is it?”
“Kara! The familiars. They’re gone!”
She tilts her head in confusion.
“Gone?”
I nod solemnly.
“The beds were empty.”
Her brow furrows. “But the doors and the windows automatically lock at night and only opened a few minutes ago.”
“But their beds were empty!” I repeat, swallowing the lump that begins to form in my throat.
“Well. We have to find them.”

_________________________________________________________________________

I adjust my cheerful yellow rucksack on my back and gaze resolutely ahead, desperately trying to ignore the knot that is forming in my gut, pulling me towards Mimi. I picture her burnished copper wings creaking as she flies above us. I already miss her.

We have been walking for a few days now, guided only by the invisible ropes that tug us towards our familiars. I have gotten used to the rhythm of the walking, and how to not be pulled along by the rope too far. It’s so hard. I just want to run and run and run and find Mimi.
We have been lucky to have only come across a few friendly travellers along the way and no Marauders, but there is an ominous atmosphere that hangs over us with the knowledge that a patrol of them could jump out at any moment and kill us all on the spot. The adults surround us in a protective circle, their familiars padding at their sides or circling overhead.

The landscapes have grown slowly more urban as we have travelled. We began on rugged and stormy cliffs, the churning murky ocean roaring beneath us, and then we hiked through overgrown forests. Now we can see the outline of the city ahead, silhouettes that shoot into the clouds. Isolated hamlets turn into quiet farms into bustling towns. We are approaching Fahrendor City.
The clouds above us are a moody grey, threatening to pour water down on us at any moment. Plink! A fat raindrop lands on my head. Thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s going to be a long night.

_________________________________________________________________________

We face the towering castle above us.
“Mimi’s in there.” I mutter to myself. Barely anyone has spoken for the whole trip. We’ve been surrounded by our own lingering thoughts, filled with anxiety for our familiars. The pain has eased now that I know they’re in there. We’re so close.

Kara gestures at the open window.
“We go in there. We find them. We run.” She whispers. “We’ll only bring the eldest - you lot stay hidden and we’ll come back for you.”
“Good luck.” Harry wishes us, echoed by the other younger children, their faces hollow and worried.
Kara clambers through the window, squeezing her slender frame through the narrow gap. The others follow. When it comes to me, I roll ungracefully onto the floor, wincing at the bang that emits after I do so.

They’re right there. Sat innocently in cages, the animals whimper when they see us. I spy Mimi in one of the cages and my heart stops. She’s OK. It seems too easy. Like a trap.

All of a sudden, screams echo around us, bouncing off the walls. We huddle into a corner, clutching to one another in terror. The Marauders come hurtling towards us, coated in glinting armour, only their malicious eyes visible. They grow closer and closer, until I swear I can hear their hearts beating. For one moment everything is silent. And then it’s chaos.

I hear blood-curdling shrieks from all around me and I flinch waiting for a body to pin me to the floor. And then I realise that the shrieks are coming from the Marauders. I frown and watch as they are attacked by invisible people and they all vanish into thin air. They just disappear.

A lady coughs. I jump.
“Greetings, Murmurs. I am the Cloak, a Murmur with the ability to harness other’s powers. I have been trying to recruit all the living Murmurs I can find. My companion,” she gestures at a small mousey man who has appeared from the shadows, “Called your familiars to the safehouse. It was the only way I was going to be able to get you to join me - you would never leave your beloved Haven. But your familiars were pulled off course by something… a Murmur being controlled by the Marauders, trying to thwart my plans. You’ll be wanting to know what exactly my plan is, I assume. Well, my plan is for a great rebellion. One that will find the Marauders. And destroy them.

_________________________________________________________________________

I sit cross-legged in my bed in the safehouse, Mimi perched comfortably on my shoulder, nibbling my ear. I think about the battle all those years ago. When I was just a girl of 15. I remember the people lost. Kara. Harry. So many of the familiars. But so many of us were saved. And now we have achieved our goal.

The Murmurs live in peace now, welcomed back into Fahrendor City. Murmurs are becoming more and more common, their powers growing ever stronger now that we are no longer forced to hide. The Haven is a school for the young Murmurs, learning how to harness their powers.

We have peace.

Critique
242 words

Hi Ari! This will be a pretty quick critique, if that’s OK? I don’t have much time, so let’s get straight into it!


Ok, so I was initially a little bit confused by this story, until I looked back at your story outline - mine’s probably confusing as well eek-
There wasn’t really much explanation about the setting and the reader is just put straight into the story with not much context. I always think it’s best to have a little introduction, because although you might be very knowledgeable on this particular landscape that your story is set in, you have to remember that your reader is not - these characters and this world is brand new to them.

I also think the grammar in this story could have been tidied up a little? You had quite a few instances for the dialogue where you went straight from one character to the other without stating who was speaking, so I got a little confused there. There were also a few little mistakes like saying ‘heartbrokened’ instead of ‘heartbroken.’

Sorry, that sounded really harsh! I actually really liked the way you formatted this story with the spaces between the lines - it made it really easy to read and flow super nicely!

I’m sorry that this has been such a short critique! If you want some more feedback then just say, but I’m a little rushed for time! Thank you for letting me critique this!

Critique
242 words

Hi Ari! This will be a pretty quick critique, if that’s OK? I don’t have much time, so let’s get straight into it!


Ok, so I was initially a little bit confused by this story, until I looked back at your story outline - mine’s probably confusing as well eek-
There wasn’t really much explanation about the setting and the reader is just put straight into the story with not much context. I always think it’s best to have a little introduction, because although you might be very knowledgeable on this particular landscape that your story is set in, you have to remember that your reader is not - these characters and this world is brand new to them.

I also think the grammar in this story could have been tidied up a little? You had quite a few instances for the dialogue where you went straight from one character to the other without stating who was speaking, so I got a little confused there. There were also a few little mistakes like saying ‘heartbrokened’ instead of ‘heartbroken.’

Sorry, that sounded really harsh! I actually really liked the way you formatted this story with the spaces between the lines - it made it really easy to read and flow super nicely!

I’m sorry that this has been such a short critique! If you want some more feedback then just say, but I’m a little rushed for time! Thank you for letting me critique this!

daily - 3/14/26

“this antique crown, decorated with lavish jewels, was sold for a record-breaking 30 million this morning in an auction by the commerce area.”
this was the phrase that was buzzing in town, where whispers and rumors were spreading.
but why was this? why did the crown, which was notoriously known for inciting a curse upon the wearer sold for such a high price?
let’s rewind a couple days back.
“this crown? you seriously want to sell this? who in the world wants to have this cursed thing in their house?” exclaimed the host of the auction, looking at the relic with disgust.
“seriously? this thing could be priceless!” replied the lavish business owner in front of him. “people love mysteries, don’t they.”
the host looked green. “let me have it checked,” he responded, before putting on 3 pairs of gloves on his hands.
afterwords, the crown was sent into a lab, where the host looked over the scientist’s experiments on the crown. “when will we be done?” he exclaimed every time that they were a second behind schedule. “the auction is in 2 days!”
finally, after many hours of restless work, the results were in. and it certainly surprised everyone.
“this crown was worn by arila the third,” said the report.
“ah, that makes sense,” muttered the host. “arila was known to having many enemies, and she was displeased with the heirs that were left. they hated each other, and the heirs vowed to destroy what she’d made in her rule. perhaps, in an attempt to save the kingdom that she started, she placed a curse on the crown. a curse that causes everyone to wear to experience a fatal death.”
“i told you,” said the man. “i told you it would be valuable.”
“very well then. 45% of the profit goes to you?”
“absoloutly not. 65%.”
“you got yourself a deal.”
and now, fellow readers, you understand how this antique crown, decorated with lavish jewels, was sold for a record-breaking 30 million this morning in an auction by the commerce area.

342 words

Critique for cyberdoodlez

I absolutely love how emotional and intense this piece is. The protagonist’s struggle with being trapped in a machine, disconnected from their body and unable to speak, hits hard. You’ve really captured that sense of isolation in a way that makes it so easy to empathize with them. The repetition of “Free me” is haunting, and it perfectly conveys their desperate yearning for freedom. The more you read, the more you feel how suffocating and soul-crushing it must be to exist in a state where you're alive but completely detached from life itself. It really makes you question the value of being “alive” when you’re so cut off from the human experience.
What really sells the emotional depth of the piece, though, is the relationship between the protagonist and Xander. The flashback to when he helped the protagonist as a kid feels like such a pivotal moment in their bond. It’s not just an act of kindness—it’s the beginning of a life-changing connection. The way Xander’s love and care for the protagonist comes through, even in the present, is beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. The emotional payoff when they’re reunited is powerful. You can almost feel the tears and the relief as the protagonist regains their body and sees Xander again. That “Dad?” moment at the end? It’s exactly the emotional climax this story needed, and it made me smile and ache all at once.
There are some areas, though, where I think you could add just a little more depth. For one, the whole concept of mind uploading is fascinating, but it feels a little vague in parts. We get that the protagonist’s consciousness has been transferred, but what does that actually look like from a technical perspective? I think adding a little more context or explanation about the process—without going too deep into the weeds of techy details—would make the idea feel more grounded and real. You set up such a cool, futuristic world, and a little more detail could really help bring it to life.
Also, the scientists who uploaded the protagonist’s mind seem a bit distant. They're more of an ominous backdrop, but we don’t really get any sense of their motivations. Why did they do this? What do they want? Are they purely interested in the experiment, or is there something more sinister going on? Giving us just a bit more of their perspective could make the protagonist's sense of being “just an object” feel even more real and unsettling.
The pacing in the middle could also use a tiny bit of variation. The protagonist spends a fair amount of time just reflecting on their isolation, which is incredibly effective, but a few more moments of action or memory flashbacks might help break up the introspection. Maybe a sudden glitch in the system or a random, strange occurrence could shake things up a bit and add some suspense before we hit the emotional reunion with Xander.
Overall, though, I think you’ve done an amazing job blending these huge, existential themes with the deeply personal story of the protagonist and Xander. It’s emotional, it’s compelling, and it makes you reflect on the cost of technology and what it means to be human. If you added just a touch more world-building and character depth to the scientists, this would be even stronger. But even as it is, it’s really well done.
I absolutely adored reading this <33

Daily||14th March||800 words

It started with a tap.
Just one. So soft she thought she might have imagined it. But then another followed, the same gentle rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was a sound she couldn’t ignore, not when it crept under her skin like something searching for its way in.
Mara stood in the dim hallway, her breath caught in her chest, straining to listen. It was coming from behind the door. The door she’d never dared to open—the door to the attic. She had always been told the same thing: Never go up there. And for years, she hadn’t questioned it. But the tapping… it pulled at her. It was insistent now. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her heart raced in the quiet, and she felt the weight of the old house pressing down on her. The air was thick, the walls too close. Her fingertips tingled as she reached for the brass doorknob. It felt wrong, but she couldn’t stop. She twisted it, and the door creaked open with a sound like bones cracking in the dark.
The cold hit her first. A rush of icy air that clung to her skin, sinking deep into her bones. The attic was as she remembered it: dim, cluttered, and thick with dust. But the thing that caught her attention—the thing that made her freeze in place—was the chair. The old wooden chair that her mother had always insisted on keeping up here, covered in a blanket of forgotten memories. The red velvet was faded and worn, but it was still there.
The tapping had stopped.
Then it started again.
Tap. Tap. Tap. But this time it was louder, clearer, like it was coming from inside the chair itself, from something hidden beneath the faded fabric. Mara’s legs felt weak, her breath shallow as she stepped forward, drawn to it, as if the tapping was pulling her closer, forcing her to listen.
She reached out, fingers trembling, and touched the back of the chair.
The moment her skin made contact, something shifted. The chair groaned under her hand, its wood creaking like it was waking up, stretching. Then—a shift. The chair moved on its own, a slow, deliberate scraping against the floor, the legs sliding forward inch by inch. She gasped, her pulse thundering in her throat.
But then… there was a sudden stop.
Complete silence.
Mara held her breath, her eyes darting over the room, the shadows stretching like fingers. She took a step back, but something in her—something deep and aching—held her there, rooted to the spot.
She didn’t want to turn away.
And then, just as her gaze fell on the chair again, she saw it. At first, it was barely noticeable. A pale finger, curling over the armrest, brushing the fabric like it was testing the air. She blinked. And then, another finger. And another.
Each one slid into view slowly, like a hand emerging from the dark, each finger thinner, longer than any human hand should be. They twitched, reaching.
Mara felt something stir inside her, a pull. A gentle tug, like a hand on her own skin. The tapping wasn’t just a sound now. It was a presence. And that presence was moving—toward her.
Her heart pounded as the chair creaked again, and then—there it was—a shift in the air behind her. A brush of cold against her neck.
The fingers, now fully visible, were moving, crawling from the chair, slowly, deliberately, inching toward her. She could feel them—feel them—like they were running along her spine. She reached out, as if to stop them, but her hand trembled, hovering just above the air, like the pull was too strong. She could no longer control her own body.
The coldness wrapped around her wrist.
Her breath hitched, and before she could pull away, a hand—too thin, too long—pressed into her palm, cool and clammy. She gasped, the sound ragged in her throat.
It was moving her.
Her body jerked forward. She was no longer in control. She tried to step back, but her feet didn’t listen. The fingers on her wrist pulled her forward. She couldn’t fight it. Her legs obeyed the invisible force, dragging her closer to the chair, to the shadows beyond the edge of the room. Every step, every movement felt like something foreign, something not her own, pulling her against her will.
The fingers dug deeper, harder, twisting, sending a jolt through her. And she realized, with a sickening clarity, that they weren’t just pulling her—they were guiding her. Moving her as if she were a marionette.
The chair was waiting.
She could hear it now, the slow creak of it calling her name.
And she was moving closer.
And all the whilst she could only think one thing:
It started with a tap.
Just one.

hi

Hi Zy! Thank you so much for letting me critique your piece <3 I'll start with a short general overview and then go into some more detail on certain paragraphs. This story was really interesting and fun to read and critique! Please bear in mind that anything I say here is just my opinion and you are free to take as much or as little of it as you like ^^

General Overview
I really liked how simple the plot was to follow in this! It's quite clear what's happening throughout the entire piece. I also liked that the writing style you used was quite consice and condensed and there wasn't anything unnecessary that was being added to the piece.

However, the story did also feel a bit empty at times - while it's supposed to be short, I felt like that you might have cut too much out of the description and in some ways, teh story felt a bit flat to read, if you get what I'm saying. I'd suggest expanding on bits of description or exposition if you'd want to, but it's not strictly necessarry to the overall understanding of the story - it would just help a bit more with flow.

Specific Critique

Until one day, they stopped coming—a newer road had been built, and they didn’t need to go through the village with the strange child anymore. But that wasn’t really fair, was it? They took and they took, and they used our resources to build a road that was more polished and proper so they didn’t have to go through the town they destroyed along the way. They took the jewels from our mines, the clay from our rivers, and the leaves from our plants to make their homes, their roads, and their medicines. They didn’t give any to us.

While I thought most of the opening was quite strong, this bit confused me a bit - who is the strange child? Is it the narrator, or is it someone else? Since the character's age at the begining ins't clearly established, I find this section a bit confusing.

It also seems to jump around from topic to topic here. One moment, you're talking about them avoiding the village because of the strange child but the next you're talking about them taking the resources (presumably from the village) to wherever they're going, and it just doesn't make a lot of sense here. I'd advise reworking this section in general since it's really confusing.

The first step: find the road. Which was really quite easy since a road is hard is miss—over the grave of the plants and animals that used to live here, was the brick road, painting in a variety of lovely hues using the dyes sourced only in our village.
I waited for a carriage to come. Drawn by four horses each and a carriage man, all I had to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike: and by strike, I of course mean hold my hand out with a carrot. I didnt need to be fancy to get what I needed, because i had the common sense to do it all without the poshness. I jumped on one of the horses, giving it the carrot. The carriage man gave em a strange look, but, clearly fed up with the overall disturbing luxury of it, said nothing.
We got to the palace soon enough, and I dipped behind a line of trees. I had an invitation, yes, but I looked nothing like the people that come through these parts. What I needed was a ballgown and my own carriage, but this wasn’t Cinderella.

I like that this bit was quite short and to the point, but I do think that you could probably develop the main character here a bit more. Maybe they could talk with the carriage man for a bit? It feels really weird to me that they could just jump onto a carriage and head to the castle just like that. It would also be nice to develop the main character's motivations and thoughts a bit more while they're waiting for all these things to happen since it does feel fairly empty and a bit more like a list of things than occured.

And finally, I laid eyes on her. The Duchess herself, Mariana Arenteria, last name given with the same name as the nation to showcase her importance. I appeared besides her, in my same village clothes and jewelry, lacking the silk and satin the Arenterians dressed themselves in.
“Hello, little girl,” she said, her face a disaster of faux kindess. “It’s a bit late. Maybe you should go home.”
Maybe I should’ve. But I wouldn’t. I gave her a subtle nod, unsure of if there was a better gesture for someone of her stature. “Duchess Mariana, please hear my message.”
Her lips pursed, but she nodded.
“I come from the village outside the palace walls. Your people have been stealing our lands and our resources to build help only yourselves; so I come bearing a warning. Either share with us, or leave us be.”
She smiled politely. One of those dreadful, fake smiles, plastered in platinum when all you want is genuinity. “Well, of course dear. I’ll see to it.”
I smiled—a real one. “Thank you.”

I really like this interaction between the Duchess and the main character, but like the rest of this story, you could probably develop it a bit more. Perhaps something about the way the Duchess is dressed compared to how the character is dressed could show the class divide between the two characters. I'm also a bit confused how the message is a warning since there's no real consequences to the main character's warning to the Duchess, so it feels more like an empty ultimaitum.

I escaped. I wish there was more to say, but there isn’t; I slipped through the bars because they were poorly designed and shoddy, easily allowing a child to slip between them unseen.
And I knew what would cause an uproar. The Duchess didn’t listen to me because she thought of me as less than her, and now came the time to prove her wrong.

I'm assuming the main character doens't escape imemdiately, but the pacing of the story suggests that she does. It would be nice to expand a bit more on the main character's thoughts before she escapes, perhaps she's formulating a plan? It feels like some amount of time should have passed between the main charcater being thrown in the cell and escaping rather than the instant “guards turned their back so I'm going to escape now” sort of thing.

Back in the main room, the party significantly quieter, I came up my idea in an instant. The chandelier, suspended by many hanging chairs and connected at one end to the wall.
The chain was as easy to break as the cell to escape, and within an instant it came crashing to the ground, shattering in a collision of light and tiny glass shards flying in every direction.
And then I ran. I left the palace behind, and I went home—I sat on the chair where my uncle used to sit, and I knew I had done something that could never be undone.

Again, everything here feels a bit… instant. There's presmuably a fair amount of distance between the castle and the village, since the main character got on a horse-drawn cart earlier. You could expand a bit more on the main character's thoughts as she's running home - pehaps she's doubting her choice, and maybe she also finds someone walking down the road willing to take her home? That way it feels a bit less instantaneous and more like time is passing between these actions.

The sun dawned. And with it, my Dawn: my closest friend, someone who I knew I could trust. Without my uncle, she was all I had left. So I told her the truth.
“Do you think I did the right thing?” I asked.
She sat silent next to me. “I think you did something that cannot be changed.”
I nodded. “But was it wrong?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t right. We can’t fit actions into boxes, only see where they go from here.”
So as the sun climbed higher in the sky, we both acknowledged it: the only way forward was seeing where the path from here led.

I'm really confused about who Dawn is in this section? It feels like you're suddenly introudcing a new character to which the reader has no context for, and it just makes the ending a bit more confusing than it could be. However, I really liked the ending bit of dialogue!

Conclusion
Overall, I really liked this piece and the story it told - the pacing just didn't feel quite right in some places. I'd advise expanding on the main character's thoughts and work on establishing Dawn as a character a bit more, just so things don't feel as instantaneous and that the introduction of Dawn doesn't feel as sudden. You still have about 900 words to play with here, which is a fair amount, so I would definitely suggest expanding where you can!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 14
Wordcount: 325/314
Topic: Pi Day
Points earned: 314+314 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

Not everything is a success. Sometimes, you must look at the hard, gravelly ground, look at it while it looks back at you, mocking you. Look at it while it scrapes your palms and leaves grazes that remind you that you are at the bottom. Look at it while boots step on you while you're down, press your face into the mud. Look at it while you watch everything you worked for go down the drain, mixed with the rain and dirt.

But then too, you must remind yourself, this too shall pass.

Then, after you have wiped the streaks on your cheeks and lifted your head, you will have to climb. Climb as you watch others push you to climb faster. Climb as you leave the slowest below. Climb steadily but surely. Climb until the ache in your legs reminds you that you are still climbing, that there is no top in sight, that there is no bottom in sight, that you are simply hanging off the middle of a ladder where you could be pushed or pulled.

But then, you must force your joints to continue, remind yourself what's waiting on the top, remind yourself, this too shall pass.

When you reach the top, your hands and legs ache, but your heart soars. You see the view from the top of the mountain. You see the skies and seas and clouds, you see birds and insects and landscapes that you couldn't have seen from the bottom. You breathe your first breath of fresh air in a long time, close your eyes, and feel the breeze on your face. Feel fulfilled. Feel happy. Feel ecstatic even. Feel safe and secure, realise that climbing the ladder was for your own good.

Yet, when you dare yourself to look down, you see the height of your fall. You no longer feel safe, because you remind yourself, this too shall pass.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Word War 7
Wordcount: 316
Person warred: its_aves
Win/Loss: Win
Prompt used: “Maybe jumping of the cliff was a bad idea…”
Time: 5 minutes
Cabin: Cyberpunk

part 1
part 2!
part 3
part 4

Maybe jumping off a cliff was a bad idea.
No, scratch that, definitely a bad idea for sure. Now that they'd been falling for so long, Mark thought this was a poor attempt at copying Alice in Wonderland. Even Cindy had gotten tired of shouting at him. Could you believe that? Cindy hadn't said anything rude to him for a whole hour (or so he assumed, time didn't really work in this place since Mark's clock had started spinning backwards. Wait, is this actually a part of Alice in Wonderland? Please don't blame the author, she doesn't remember the book at all, and she's pretty much just rambling in this entire word war.)

“Cindy, don't you have something to say?” Mark asked her curiously. Now that he wasn't getting shouted at, it was kind of eerie. Not eerily silent, since the wind still blew in his ears deafeningly, but eerie.

“What do you want me to say?” She sighed, head lolling to the side. Wow, was she falling asleep in this situation? He must have really tired her out.

“I don't know, I thought you were going to chew me out a little more.”

“I need to save energy in case there's an actual lake below us and not hard stone that will crush our bones.”

Good point. Maybe Mark should do that too.

Falling, falling, falling. Mark had to hold onto Cindy's hand tightly when she fell asleep in fear that she might just magically get separated from him. Not sure how that would work, but falling for half a day (okay, now he was definitely making time frames up. Wait, was he?) didn't bode well with anybody's subconscious. Especially when they were falling on an empty stomach. Mark would even consider eating escargot, he just really wanted to eat something. No no, forget about that. Mark would rather die than eat escargot.

3/14 - 371 words

The world had started with cataclysm. A goddess’s fall, the rise of the resistors, the beginning of a golden age, it had been called. But the technical term for it was matricide. No one ever liked when Benedetto called it that, and they certainly didn’t now. He sat in his mother’s kitchen, picking at his fingernails as his mother scolded him for the millionth time about “his attitude.”
“You can’t profane the Names like that, Benedetto! You can’t go around telling people They committed a petty crime! You’re going to get yourself killed!” She swatted at him with a dishtowel. “My only son! Dead because he couldn’t get a lesson through his thick head.” She grumbled, swatting at him again. “Gods help me.”
He hopped off the counter, grabbing the towel from her and beginning to scrub the cabinets. “It’s not that serious Ma, you can’t let the principals get you down like that. All I got was detention.”
“A kid beat you up Bennie.”
“Kids beat each other up all the time.”

It was funny how life repeated; that was the thought that circled in Benedetto’s head as he lie in the sand, hands pinning his arms and his wings down as he kicked wildly against the tumult of fists cracking against him.
“Get off!” He tried to sound assertive but his normal devil-may-care tone was lost as he begged.
“Take it back.”
He bit his tongue as another punch echoed in his skull and kicked against the hands coming to pin his legs down.
“Never.” He hissed.
“You’ll regret it, bird boy.”
“Try me.” In spite of the fact that his blood was rushing from his head, his sense still alluded him.
“You’re going to get yourself killed, kid. Spunk isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Benedetto squirmed under his attackers, limbs weak from all the fighting. The world was fuzzy as he gasped for air. Fuzzy as he made his final stand. “False. Names.”

The world had started with an insurrection. The Gods killing their mother in a desperate plea for power. Insurrection killed, that was the nature of things. The technical term for it was murder, but the Names would get away with calling it justice.

Daily 14

Circles, spirals, loops—the number 3.14159… goes on forever. Today’s daily, inspired by pi day, is all about repetition and return. Write a piece that comes back to where it began, whether through an image, a line, a mistake, or a moment that refuses to stay buried. Let the connection be subtle or obvious, literal or symbolic, but make it matter. Write at least 314 words for 314 points, and an extra 314 points for sharing proof.

The sweet scent of baking pie filled the kitchen. The graham cracker crust had been filled, filled with oo-y goo-y deliciously creamy marshmallow filling, and sweet, coco-y chocolate sauce. The smell was wondrous. Amara waited (im)patiently at the kitchen table, for the delicious sticky pie to come out of the oven. Her Grandma had creamed and fluffed the marshmallows to perfection, before pouring them into the crushed graham cracker crust, which had been drizzled with chocolate sauce, and then drizzling it with even more delicious, melty chocolate. “Is the pie ready yet?” Amara whined at her Grandma, even though she knew it wasn’t, since she could see the glowing number on the oven timer, counting down the minutes until the pie would be ready. “Not yet, dear.” Her Grandma said, walking through the room, carrying a basket full of laundry. “Why don’t you go play outside?” Her Grandma suggested “I don’t wanna” Amara whined “Or, you could help me do the laundry”
“I’m going outside! I’m going outside!” Amara ran and put her shoes on. She did not want to help with the laundry, that was for sure. “Come back soon!” Her Grandma called as Amara ran out the door (she REALLY did not want to help with the laundry).
Amara walked down the sidewalk. The air was sweet and warm. Hmm… Wait, the air usually didn’t smell THAT sweet. Amara sniffed. She smelled… pie! She followed the smell, to a pie eating contest! Hooray! Now I can eat all the pie I want, with no waiting! She thought. “Hello, I’d like to sign up for this pie eating contest.” She said to the pie eating contest sign up person. “Okay. You need to sign this, and have a parental guardian sign this.” Amara looked down at the papers.
We are not responsible for any injury or death caused by this pie eating contest
Amara raised an eyebrow. “What kind of injury or death can be caused by a pie eating contest?” She questioned “We are not responsible for any injury or death caused by this pie eating contest.” The person said, in a dull tone “Okay… but what injury or death?”
“No matter the kind, we are not responsible for it.” They said, in the same tone
“But WHAT injury or death can you get from eating pie?” Amara asked, irritated “We are not responsible for any injury or death caused by—”
“Oh forget it.” Amara shoved the forms in the person’s face to make them stop talking. I don’t have a parent to sign thing, anyway. She thought. She looked at the table full of pies. I REALLY want one, though. She stared longingly at the pies. And they are right there… Maybe I could steal one! She walked over to the pies, looking them over. “What are you doing?” The pie person said. Uh oh. She thought. She quickly grabbed a pie, and took off running. “Hey! Stop! Theif!” The person yelled. Amara ran into the forest, and ran and ran until she couldn’t hear any foot steps. She stopped, out of breath. “Drat! I forgot to get a knife or something. I guess I could eat it with my hands…”
“Why would you need a knife? And what are you gonna eat?” Amara looked around, bewildered. There wasn’t anyone else there, so who could be talking to her…? “Hello? Didn’t you hear me?” She looked down, to where the voice was coming from. “I thought humans could talk.” Said the pie, that she was holding. “Hey, could you set me down, by the way?” Amara screamed, and dropped the pie. It was talking! “I said set down, not drop!” The pie said, brushing itself off. “You… you can talk!” Amara said, in shock. “Yes, and so can you. I don’t understand why that’s so remarkable.” The pie said, a little annoyed, it seemed. Well, she couldn’t blame it, she had just dropped it, and then been surprised when it talked. She probably would be a little annoyed if she were it. Still, it was strange. “Sorry, it’s just… most pies don’t talk.” Amara said “Huh, that must be why none of them responded when I talked to them.” The pie responded. “Just wondering, why did you grab me and run away?” The pie asked. Should I tell it? Amara wondered. “I, um, was going to eat you…” she said, awkwardly. “WHAT?!?!!” The pie screamed. “Well, I’m not now! I would never eat a talking pie! Plus, I don’t really like cherry pie, anyway!” Amara said, trying to calm it. “But… But still! I never knew I destined to be EATEN!” The pie said, franticly. “Well, maybe you aren’t. You could be anything. You could be a scholar, or a reporter, or a historian, or a pop star, or, a…” Amara said, listing jobs off the top of her head. “I don’t know what any of those are!” The pie cried. “Well, I saved you from getting eaten, so now you can do… whatever.” Amara said. The pie took a deep breath (somehow) “You’re right. I’m going to go learn about the world! Thank you, young human!” The pie said, as it walked off into the forest “My name’s Amara!” She called after it. Well. That was an interesting occurrence. Amara began walking home. She knocked briefly, just to let her Grandma know she was back. “I’m back!” She called, walking into the kitchen. “Perfect timing! The pie’s done!” Her Grandma said. Amara smiled. And so, they settled down, and had some pie.
The end.

929 words.

⋆.˚ “Love Once More” ⋆·˚ ༘ *

His gaze was on her eyes. No anger, just remorse and unconditional love.
Under all circumstances he would always love her. And that was the problem, letting someone go.
But unfortunately he had to. He had to.
She stared back with blissful eyes and a tender smile. This sent rushes of emotions through him as the memories came flooding back.
Although she was across the room, she could sense how he felt.
The two slowly began walking forwards. For both, each step felt like a sorrowful trudge to reality. It was over. That was the past.
They greeted each other with a warm embrace.
“Hello.” he said. “Hi.” she said wistfully. They stared at each other for just a moment longer.
“I'm so sorry.” he said. “There is nothing you can do.” she answered. No one else in the room really noticed them at all.
They were just ordinary people now. It was their fate.
“How– um, how are you doing?” he asked. “I'm happy. I'm happy. I should be.” she answered firmly. “Look, it was already over before this happened.” she continued on, “I never meant to hurt you. But you knew, you knew I wasn't that kind of person.”
He sighed. “I know.” “It's okay.” he answered.
All those summers ago, the joy, the laughter… the love. It was all a blur, yet never to be forgotten.
“You have to let me go. You will move on… you have to.” she said sadly. It was the truth that he most dreaded facing.
She saw the sadness take over his eyes. "I will always love you. You know I will always love you.“ she said.
He looked at her intently and with a tear slowly dropping down his cheek he answered, ”I will always love you too."
And so the celebration carried on, the two spending moments together that would not happen again for a very long time– almost too long.
Some people in life are lucky to be brought together. Others enjoy time together until fate sets them apart.
As the night came to an end, they parted ways. Both in sadness and happiness.
They looked back at each other, once more.
Eyes whispering across the room…
I will always love you.
I will always love you.
He loved her so much, but it was time to let go.
The night continued to linger on longer. Wistful memories buzzing through the air. Both could only think of all they had been through.
In their hearts one thing would remain true forever.
Love
He would always love her. She would always love him.
It was unconditional.
Eternal.

✎ 3.14.2026 ~ Daily #14 ❀ ~ 438 words ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

pi daily || 314 words

She fell.
Wind screamed past her, tearing long fingers through her hair, her clothes. And with each heartbeat, memory — blessed memory — returned to her.
This was punishment. A retribution for her crimes.
She closed her eyes before she hit the ground.

She woke to pain, and burning fever. She rolled over, trying to stand but crying out when bitter pangs shot through her.
She had… fallen. From something high, she thought. She strained her eyes to look upwards but saw nothing but the blinding brilliance of the sun. It scorched her gaze, flaring a headache in her temples. Pain. Everything was pain.
She sucked chapped lips, swallowing. If she could just find water. Water would cool the burning in her body, wash away the tired in her limbs. Surely there was water somewhere, wherever here was. Where was here, anyway? What was she doing here? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. Water… she needed water…

When she struggled back to consciousness, she wished she hadn’t. The land around her was desolate and barren, devoid of any life — or water. She rested on dusty stone, baked hot with the sun’s heat. There was no shade to be found, nothing but flat emptiness. She would have cried if she had enough moisture in her for tears.
Moving was difficult. Her legs hurt, her middle hurt, her head hurt, everything hurt. She tried to stand again and had to stop, head swimming dizzily. In the end, she settled for a lurching half-crawl, hoping to find water. That was all she could think about, now: the cold relief, the promise of shelter from the cruel sun. And surely that was a shimmer in front of her, wasn’t it? So perfectly blue, so promisingly wet…
She didn’t see the edge of the cliff until the mirage faded and the ground went out from under her.
And she fell.

Daily March 14th
Words: 533

Kieran woke up, the sunlight dripping through his mica windows like strings of gold. Hope swelled in his stomach. Was it a different day? He had made a scratch on his cherry wood bedframe. If it was still there, it was the next day. If the wood was restored, pristine as ever, he had to relive the same day, once again. For the millionth time.
He shot up from his bed and ran his finger along the wood. Whole and unscathed. He let out the breath he was holding, the air clouding in the morning chill. He hardly remembered what the other seasons were like after living for so long in the early spring. Any moment now his mother would call with breakfast from down the hall. Always toast. Always moonberry jam. He hated the thought of eating it again.
“Kieran! Breakfast!” his mother yelled.
“On my way!” he shouted back, pulling on a loose, pleated white shirt and his work pants.
He padded through the corridor to the kitchen and took his plate of toast.
“Thank you. What do I have to do today?” He knew the answer, but asked the question as he did every day.
It slipped out without him even thinking. He didn’t have to think about anything the entire day and it would all play out perfectly as he had rehearsed. Long ago, he had tried to deviate from the plans of the day, but the universe always found a way to get his day back on track and force him to complete his chores. He didn’t even know why he was stuck in the time loop. Sometimes, late at night, he snuck into the community library and read all he could about time loops.
They were supposed to be ancient forms of punishment from the Gods and no one believed in anymore. Nothing real. Nothing that should keep him waking up at the same time and hearing the same dialogue from his mother day after day. His mother had already replied but he hadn’t been paying attention. No matter.
“Alright. I will do that as soon as I finish eating,” he said with a smile.
It felt more like a grimace. He couldn’t wait to stop eating this breakfast, to get outside where his day might vary at least a little from yesterday.
Hopelessly, the day passed by, just as dull as his morning was. Chores were completed. Lunch was eaten. He spent the rest of the day pretending to read the same book that he had already finished over and over again.
Before bed, he carefully dragged his fingernail down the length of his bed, near where he rested his feet. The wood scratched easily, the path clear and rough. He tried to keep his hope under control. Eventually he had to break out from the loop, but there was no evidence that told him it would be tonight. Still, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his dreams were hopeful and bright, dreaming of a summer he had never seen.
When he woke, he tore off his covers and leapt from the bed. There the wood was, smooth and untouched.
“Kieran! Breakfast!”

Word War proof with @sweetcakefamily

6 min // 258 words // Prompt: “We have a problem.”, “You call it a problem, I call it a solution.”

“We have a problem.” I groaned as Lucy started talking, as if everything was the end of the world.
”You call it a problem, I call it a solution,” I responded promptly.
“Why do you call it a solution? You literally haven’t responded to your pen pal in two weeks, and she keeps sending letters asking if you ever will!”
“It’s called ghosting someone, and if I don’t have to respond, I don’t have to embarrass myself by doing so. It’s simple.” Lucy glared at me.
“You are being mean,” Lucy said, in such an offended tone it was like I was ghosting her.
“And you are being immature. You gotta be mean sometimes in the real world,” I patted her on the head.
“HEY! I’m only one year younger than you. You treat me like I’m five.”
“You basically are. Hey, maybe I’m really six.”
“Rude, rude, rude. If you don’t want a pen pal, just tell him you don’t want to be his pen pal anymore, that you are too busy and don’t want to put up with all the effort,” she said, too sincerely for me to take her seriously.
“No, cause that would be EMBARRASSING. Don’t you know anything?”
“I know plenty about being nice, but excuse me if I’m not fluent in the ways of being mean. I don’t do it often.”
“Yeah, I can tell,”
“Well, I can tell that you think you are sooooo grown up, you are only twelve,”
“Wait, are you trying to be mean???? Cool.”
“Is it working?”

War with PiratePandaFootie
6 mins, prompt: “We have a problem.” “You call it a problem, I call it a solution.”

Gianna's mouth hung open as she and Kylian stepped into the building along with the throngs of other attendees. All around them were dressed in fascinating attire, along with them, colourful dresses and neat tuxedos as far as the eye could see. This was a gala, alright. And just as Kylian said, a gala certainly organised by high profile people with prominent courtesy titles, for their riches were on full display in this dazzling venue.
Gianna's honey brown eyes traced up the walls as they came into the entrance hall, lined up in near single file as they waited to be welcomed in by the hosts of this grand event. The halls were cream and ivory and adorned with beautiful painted gold trims around arches and paintings crafted by talented hands. Chandeliers of gold and shimmering in iridescent multiple colours through the crystal bulbs hung suspended from the ceiling, and Gianna couldn't help but be impressed. This was probably the best venue they had been to yet in all of their covert, undercover missions.
She glanced at Kylian, and he seemed just as mesmerised as she was, his deep green eyes tracing the adorned wallls as she had just done.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
Kylian startled slightly, glancing at her and giving a sheepish smile. “Yes…I never expected this, to be honest.”
“Well, you told me a lord was hosting, did you not?” She nudged him, and he rolled his eyes before taking her arm in similar fashion as the other guests around them. “That automatically makes him rich, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kylian looked ahead of them to find where they were going, and his brow suddenly furrowed. “Oh…Meyer, look.”
Gianna's eyes followed his gaze, and her stomach twisted. “Is that…”
“A ballroom?” Kylian's mouth pulled into a grin, and Gianna inwardly groaned.
“Oh no…that's a problem.”
“What?”
“We have a problem with that.”
“Wait, a problem?” Kylian doubled back, smirking. “You call that a problem, I call it a solution.”
“Reed, seriously?”
“Don't you realise that will be perfect to get close to the lord and his lady?”
"Wait, I'm not following

356 words

────────── ☆ ──────────

✿┊March 14th Daily

Circles, spirals, loops—the number 3.14159… goes on forever. Today’s daily, inspired by pi day, is all about repetition and return. Write a piece that comes back to where it began, whether through an image, a line, a mistake, or a moment that refuses to stay buried. Let the connection be subtle or obvious, literal or symbolic, but make it matter. Write at least 314 words for 314 points, and an extra 314 points for sharing proof.

Author's Notes:
✦ Not proud of this and didn't even wanna share it but hey! Extra points!
✦ This was meant to be a character study of Fire Spirit from Cookie Run but I think it turned out even more out of character. I just quickly wrote down something for the daily but I don't think it's actually accurate. Keep that in mind.

Nobody can see through Fire Spirit.

He always goes through life with a charming smile and a careless wave of his hand. Life is a breeze that he flies through effortlessly. He’s got big haters but even bigger fans, and he relishes in the fame and power every single day. Flames spring to life at his slightest touch, and civilizations can be swept away with the smallest flick of his staff.

“I am disappointed in your work as a Guardian,” Wind Archer once tutted to him after Fire Spirit neglected his duties yet again. “I do not understand why Nature chose you to protect this world.”

“Could you please take this more seriously?” Moonlight once said, exasperated, at yet another incident of him almost burning down the City of Wizards. He was henceforth banished from the place, and he hasn’t been allowed back even after thousands of years have passed.

“You really think you’re better than me? Hah, it’s so entertaining to see!” Stormbringer once laughed, lounging on a cloud in her fearless domain and looking down at the little flame beneath her.

Frankly, he doesn’t care a bit. Those other Guardians can belittle him all they want. They’ll never understand how awesome he truly is.

They’ll also never understand that this power isn’t truly his. That every smile, careless wave and flick of his hand are all just a mask, designed to shroud the withering soul behind it.

At the end of the day, he’s always that pathetic burning Cookie, making a dangerous deal with a Dragon just for the slightest smidge of a chance to live. And that part of himself — scared, rash and worst of all powerless — will always haunt him, no matter how much he tries to burn the memories away. Its ashes will always stain his fingers, reminding him of who he once was and who he always will be. He’s a reckless pile of cinders, living off stolen power and pretending its his.

Nobody can see through Fire Spirit, but as long as those memories torment his mind, he’ll always see through himself.

Word Count: ~349

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Proof for March 14th daily

PIE DAY!! // 314 words.

“This tastes delicious!” Celia served herself another piece of apple pie as she spoke.
“Remember, we are trying to find the pie with the key in it. We’re not just trying to eat all the pie. We have a mission we need to do,” Ari spoke with a scolding voice.
“Maybe the pie with the key is the key lime pie?”
“I guess there is no harm in trying that one next,” Ari said.
“But there is a benefit! It’s the best kind of pie ever!” squealed Celia.
“Focus. We are on a mission, not a tour through pie.”
“Did you count how many pies there are we need to eat? We could do some maths and figure out how long it will take. That way, I know when the latest we can get to the next part of the mission is.”
“Ummm, I don’t know…” Ari started counting.
“Ooooooh, cherry pie!” Celia started searching through the pies for the key.
“15, 16, 17, 18.” Ari kept counting.
“Pumpkin, lemon meringue……”
Celia stuck her head in front of a chocolate pie. There was something shiny in it. She didn’t know what, but it was covered in chocolate ganache. Delicious.
“There are 314 pies.”
“I wish there were 31415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751015926535 8979323846 2643383279 5028841971 6939937510 5820974944 5923078164 0628620899 8628034825 3421170679 pies,”
“Why???? Then we would have that many more to look for if we don’t find it soon. All we know there might be multiple keys. We should probably check in all of them. I guess we have to.”
“YAY!!!!! More pie!!!”
“We don’t need to eat all the pie. They do smell very good, though. I might have one piece. Just one,”
“How about this wonderful chocolate cream pie. There is something in it, shiny, lucky to find a key in a pie,
“Wait, a key?”
“This tastes delicious!” Celia served herself another piece of pie.

Courage stood by Sheer's side, at the top of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
The salty air ruffled their fur, and Courage felt the wind sting the scratch on his shoulder—a mark from battle training. This scratch wasn't very deep, but someday, he would get real scars. Like true warriors did. Courage smiled at the thought.
“You're going to get yourself killed one of these days, you know,” Sheer teased him, seeming to read his mind.
“I'm not afraid to die for this Pack,” he responded, puffing up his chest. He was instantly proud of how cool that sounded. “After all, Legend did. So I'd be in good company.”
“And we're grieving him still.” Sheer turned away, her ears flattening. Courage's good mood evaporated as he wondered what he'd said wrong.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her side as gently as he could. “Grief is part of life. But sometimes, pain shows us who we can be. And it doesn't mean we can't hope that everything will work out in the end.”

Sheer stood by Courage's side, at the top of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
Sheer glanced sideways at the scratch on Courage's shoulder. She could see the blood matted in his fur, and the scent of it made her sick. The wound was small, barely even a scuff, but it felt like a premonition of worse things to come. She shook her head, trying to clear the dark, violent visions from her mind.
“You're going to get yourself killed one of these days, you know,” she warned him, her tail twitching worriedly.
“I'm not afraid to die for this Pack.” Courage responded. Sheer wondered if that was really true, or if he was just trying to live up to his name. “After all, Legend did.” Courage continued. “So I'd be in good company.”
Sheer looked away, not wanting Courage to see the flash of pain that crossed her face. She had known Legend in life, if only briefly. Courage had only heard the stories. He didn't know the details. “And we're grieving him still,” she managed to say.
She felt Courage nudge her softly with his nose. “Hey, grief is part of life,” he told her. “But sometimes, pain shows us who we can be. And it doesn't mean we can't hope that everything will work out in the end.”