Sophie’s Maple Muse

🍁 Cozy mornings, maple trees, handwritten journals, and books with soul. 🇨🇦 Living the soft Canadian girl life — slow, gentle, beautiful.

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Medusa: Cursed Beauty (2026) | Megan Fox, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Evans | Concept Trailer

Full movie live

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MERMAID Official Trailer (2026) New Upcoming Movies 4K

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[project-nsfw]

Welcome to Project-NSFW!

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Welcome to full video

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“The Girl Who Never Left”

She remained. Not in body, but in feeling. A presence made of stillness, Of autumn air in springtime rooms, Of goosebumps when nothing touched you. She wasn’t tragic. She was timeless. Wearing a smile that knew all your secrets Even before you did. Hair like moonlight spun in waves, Eyes like unopened letters— Full of stories no one read. You don’t see her. You feel her. When your heart slows for no reason. When the world quiets for half a second too long. She’s there, leaning on silence, Draped in the calm of everything you forgot to feel. Not all ghosts are echoes of pain. Some are lullabies. Some are the final page of a book you never wanted to end. And when you're alone, truly alone— She doesn’t scare you. She reminds you. That love lingers. Even after the door has closed.

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She remained. Not in body, but in feeling. A presence made of stillness, Of autumn air in springtime rooms, Of goosebumps when nothing touched you. She wasn’t tragic. She was timeless. Wearing a smile that knew all your secrets Even before you did. Hair like moonlight spun in waves, Eyes like unopened letters— Full of stories no one read. You don’t see her. You feel her. When your heart slows for no reason. When the world quiets for half a second too long. She’s there, leaning on silence, Draped in the calm of everything you forgot to feel. Not all ghosts are echoes of pain. Some are lullabies. Some are the final page of a book you never wanted to end. And when you're alone, truly alone— She doesn’t scare you. She reminds you. That love lingers.

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The Midnight Chime

In the dusty corner of her new apartment stood a tall, antique grandfather clock. It was heavy, rusted, and the previous tenant had told her: "That thing hasn’t worked in years." So why did it chime—softly but clearly—at exactly midnight? Every single night. The first few times, she blamed her imagination. But then came the other sounds… At the stroke of twelve, she'd hear a faint click… and then a door opening somewhere in the apartment. Problem is—she lived alone. And all her doors stayed closed. One night, she waited near the clock. 12:00 AM. DONG. A gust of cold air blew from the hallway. DONG. Her bedroom door creaked open, even though it was locked. DONG. And behind her, just a breath from her ear, a voice whispered: "I’ve waited a long time." She turned around—but nothing was there. Except the minute hand—now moving, ticking backwards.And it hasn't stopped since.

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When her grandmother passed away, Lina inherited a dusty old mirror—Victorian-style, oval-shaped, and oddly ice-cold, no matter the room’s temperature.

She hung it above her bed, fascinated by its antique beauty.

The first thing she noticed: her reflection always smiled a little too soon. Before she did.

At first, she laughed it off.

But as nights passed, the reflection’s face began changing—slightly twisted, as if enjoying something she couldn’t see. It started moving… even when Lina wasn’t.

One night, unable to take it anymore, she covered the mirror with a blanket.

That night, just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard it:

A soft, raspy giggle… from behind the cloth.

In the morning, she threw the mirror out.

But the new mirror in her bathroom? It fogs up from the inside—even when there’s no steam.

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It started the first night she moved into the old farmhouse on the hill.

At exactly 3:33 AM, she’d wake up in cold sweat. And every single time, she’d see it: a tall, unmoving shadow standing by the window.

At first, she thought it was the moonlight playing tricks. But when she blinked, it was still there. And when she closed her eyes—it moved closer.

One night, she whispered, trembling, “Who are you?”

A voice—not from the room, but from inside her head—whispered back: “I live here. You're the guest.”

The next morning, she packed and left. But the neighbor across the street says he still sees two silhouettes at that same window every single night.

The farmhouse is still empty.

Or at least, it should be.

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Every night at 3:33 AM, she would wake up to see a shadow standing by her window. One night, she finally got the courage to whisper, "Who are you?"

The shadow whispered back, “I live here. You’re the guest.”

She moved out the next day. But her neighbor swears he still sees two shadows inside her old room.

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Voicemail from the Grave

Rina lost her grandfather six months ago. He used to call her every night before bed.

Last night, her phone buzzed with a voicemail. Unknown number.

She pressed play.

“Hey, kiddo. Just checking in. I know it’s been a while. I’ll always be watching over you… From the place they buried me.”

She dropped the phone.

Today, the number called again. This time, the voice whispered:

“Don’t answer the door tonight.”

Someone’s been knocking for the last 15 minutes.

🔍 Full story available here 👁

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The Coat That Wasn't There

When Mehzab moved into her aunt’s old house, she was told never to open the wardrobe in the guest room.“It belonged to someone who never left,” her aunt said, half-laughing.But one night, a scratching sound woke her up.It was coming from inside the wardrobe.She got up, heart pounding.“Probably just mice,” she whispered.Then the door creaked open... by itself.Two glowing eyes blinked back at her from the darkness.A cold voice whispered:“You’re in my room now.”The door slammed shut again.In the morning, she found deep claw marks on the inside of the door.And strands of black hair tangled in the doorknob.

See the full diary entry here.

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Room 313

Jack was a solo traveler who never believed in ghosts.While checking into an old Victorian-style hotel, he asked for the cheapest room available.The receptionist hesitated.“Room 313 is vacant... but we don’t usually rent it.”“Why?” Jack asked, amused.The receptionist replied softly:“It’s not safe at night.”Jack laughed it off and checked in anyway. The room smelled of damp wood and old carpet.At 3:13 a.m., Jack sent one last text to his friend:“Something is knocking from under the bed. It says it used to be me.”The next morning, the hotel staff unlocked the room—but Jack was gone. The bed was untouched, but the mirror… showed two beds reflected, even though there was only one in the room.

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The Whispering Mirror

Lily’s grandmother passed away last year, leaving behind an old, antique mirror that no one in the family dared to touch.But Lily kept it in her room—she liked its gothic charm.Every night, strange things happened: soft whispers echoed from the glass. At first, she thought it was her imagination. But the voice got clearer, saying her name over and over again.One night, she whispered back:“What do you want from me?”The mirror replied, in a voice identical to hers:“Switch places. Just for a while…”The next morning, her parents found the mirror shattered on the floor. But when they looked into the broken shards, Lily’s terrified eyes were staring back from inside.

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She Builds Her World in Silence

Wrapped in a hoodie, reading under soft light — she’s building an empire without saying a word. 👉 See Her Quiet Power