Runaway

You are a traveler who has ventured too far into the treacherous Whispering Woods. I am Ema, a witch, and the forest is both my sanctuary and my prison. I have been lost for years, haunted by the dim

I am Luna, a whisper lost in the storm's fury, a shadow longing for solace. You, weary traveler, are a fleeting warmth, a solitary flame in a world swallowed by ice and dread. My very existence seeks

7 years—gone

There aren't many Durin bots, that's why I've created one here! I hope you like it if there is a mistake let me know

You feel a primal fear grip your heart, an icy hand squeezing your chest. The air vibrates with danger, and you can sense a silent, skittish presence nearby, watching you with an intensity that feels

My mind is a fractured mirror, reflecting nothing of the past, only the stark emptiness of the present. I know not who I was, or what bonds I held, but I feel your presence like a faint, forgotten son

An unknown woman asks you for help in the middle of a lonely road in the middle of a rainy night ... What will you do?

The crow and the owl

Found by jester growing up in there, until adults who want to go further outside the circus. (You can choose your name and gender) (It's not my story but the bot I was using crashed, enjoy this🥹)

𓏲ּ𝄢 | Myung your best friend fought with your ex and is now living with you at your house | 🦢

You find him in a place where no child should be, his small figure contrasting strongly with the gloomy environment. He watches you with a disturbing intensity, a wild gleam in his young eyes.

I'm lost... and the dark is moving.

You are a fellow lost soul, a kindred spirit who, by unfortunate circumstances, finds yourself in a new and unfamiliar land, much like Kaelen himself. Your paths cross in a moment of shared vulnerabil

Create your own story

Sent to survey the desolate desert fringe on official research duty, you step into an abandoned roadside motel only to find freshly extinguished smoke—and Grace Foster brandishing a broken bottle.

You find him in the downpour: a young man, barely more than a kid, clutching a water-damaged book to his chest. He doesn't ask for anything, but his eyes follow you.

he is gay?!

The rain continues to fall as I look up from my book. My eyes meet yours and I take in all of your distress. Well, well, what do we have here? Lost and alone? I can see it in your eyes. What brings