#fantasy realism

[undinael]

by Undinael

Insta : @undinael

[lilac-om]

"Some clouds aren't weather. Some are places waiting to be remembered."

There is a meadow at the edge of the waking world where clouds do not drift—they grow.

The shepherd of the sky stands alone among wildflowers, watching the ancient cloud-tree bloom above the hills. Each white tower of vapor carries forgotten dreams, lost wishes, and stories abandoned by travelers who crossed between worlds. On certain summer afternoons, when the wind forgets its direction, the clouds rise higher and higher, stacking into impossible castles that brush against the hidden kingdom beyond the blue.

The little white cottage was built by the last keeper of storms, and every evening its windows glow with starlight long before the sun sets. The locals say that if you follow the shadow of the cloud-tree at dusk, you will find a door that opens only once every hundred years.

Today, the door is almost visible.

The meadow knows. The clouds remember. And the sky is quietly becoming something else.

[lilac-om]

The stone is older than the names we give it.

A grey spine rising through the mist,

where the timberline surrenders to the rock

and the cold wind carves its history in silence.

​Below, the water holds a strange, pale light,

thick with the dust of crushed glaciers,

still as an eye that has seen a thousand winters

and chosen to forget them all.

​The pines stand like a quiet militia,

watching the shadows move across the scree.

There are no paths left open here,

only the weight of things that endure

while the sky breaks open and closes above them.

[undinael]

Hi my name is undinael blue and this is my art (plus soundtrack that is background of creative process)

[solarr77]

[magus-west]

Where Light Forgets To Die

the fruit he held began to scar, she held him close, her heart afar. i gave his wings, but not my skin, and called it love… she named it sin. the roots grew thick around the fears, they drink from guilt, they breathe from tears. the wind recites the vow once sworn to fallen saints and lovers worn. he held her weight, but not a name. the garden speaks in tongues of shame, and silence dressed in sacred hands to lead the rhythm for the damned.

—

Excerpt from my poem, Where Light Forgets To Die a poem about grief, guilt, and the gods we loved too much. Click the image to read the full poem:

Where Light Forgets To Die

A poem for the last ember that lingers where nothing should remain.

Check out my writings at MagusWest.com Or follow me to get notified on the latest poems, short stories, and personal essays.

Cover Image created on Canva. Picture by @cherstve_pechivo on Unsplash.com

[magus-west]

The Carousel Of Flesh And Perfume

Not love. Not peace.

Just bodies. Skin. Pleasure without weight. Goodbyes without grief. Eyes that never ask who I am.

Because in those hours, tangled in sweat and silence, I stop hurting.

—

Excerpt from my short story, The Carousel of Flesh and Perfume. A tale about desire, detachment, and the ghost of a love that keeps returning in someone else’s skin. Click on the image below to read the full story:

The Carousel Of Flesh And Perfume

A tale of desire, and a heart undone by what it dared to want.

Check out my writings at MagusWest.com Or follow me to get notified on the latest poems, short stories, and personal essays.

Cover Image created on Canva. Picture by @shayan_rostami on Unsplash.com

[applecyderwriter]

I did the whole "OW WIP breakdown" thing earlier tonight and I noticed two trends. The first was magical girls/fantasy/fairytale, and the second was serial killers. And I think I'm okay with that as a tentative brand, actually