The Spire
  • WpView
    LETTURE 9
  • WpVote
    Voti 0
  • WpPart
    Parti 3
WpMetadataReadPer adultiIn corso56m
WpMetadataNoticeUltima pubblicazione sab, feb 19, 2022
My mother told me a story passed down from generation to generation about our tribe. The story of our old home world, Burrows. The one that sits in the night sky far above us. The story is one my sister and I would listen to all the time, of when our people lived happily on our own world. It wasn't perfect of course, there were wars, famine, natural disasters. Yet we had spanned across the world, erecting great cities and monuments of art. It was a story that soothed us, as though we had been children of Oblivion, like our parents, and our grandparents. We still longed to be back on that world, far from the Byllith and it's followers... and from the fear and torment that they bring. My sister and I had promised each other that we would return to our world in the sky, one day. When heroes arise to aid the children of Oblivion to help vanquish the Byllith once and for all and the Spire that stretches endlessly into the sky finally topples.
Tutti i diritti riservati
Entra a far parte della più grande comunità di narrativa al mondoFatti consigliare le migliori storie da leggere, salva le tue preferite nella tua Biblioteca, commenta e vota per essere ancora più parte della comunità.
Illustration

Potrebbe anche piacerti

  • Before The Rebuild: The Prequel to Rebuilt
  • Immortal Hearts
  • Life and Death
  • Dark Dreamers: The Sleep Master
  • The world is ending and I have unlimited supplies
  • In Shadows of Night
  • Daybreak Apocrypha - Arcus Primarius
  • "It didn't have to be this way"
  • tales of perdolia

Before Mike, before the love story people know now, there was me-raw, broken, and surviving. This is the truth I never thought I'd be strong enough to tell. I was 22 years old when my life shattered. I was raped in a back alley and left bleeding, alone. When I turned to the police, hoping for help, they didn't protect me-they shamed me. They called me slurs. They asked me what I'd done to deserve it. What I had worn. Whether I had "led him on." No one believed me. Nine months later, I gave birth to my son. I named him Aerion Jace Rosier-Aj. His name means strength, wisdom and power in Greek. I gave him that name because i wanted him to have everything I felt had been stolen from me. He was my light, even in the darkest time of my life. But the darkness wasn't done with me. My two older children, Samuel and Emilie, ended up with my first ex's mother, and I lost all parental rights to them. And then came the 18 months of sex trafficking. They used Aj as collateral-my baby was the only reason i obeyed. I was forced to do what they wanted, or they would have killed him. They only let me see him for one hour each day. I was deprived of food, stripped of dignity, starved down to 75 pounds. I remember the blue car Aj was in the day the police sting finally saved us. But even after we were freed, i wasn't really free. the PTSD haunted me. I avoided certain materials, certain places, even certain sounds. And every night, I heard the voices. Every relationship after that was wrong-narcissists who broke me down even further. Men who convinced me I was unworthy, unwanted. My current ex even told my son Aj that he wasn't wanted-that he was nothing. I let it happen, and the guilt kills me. I became "the girl who never cried." I thought if I never cried, maybe none of it really happened. But the truth is, it didn't. And it changed me.

Più dettagli
WpActionLinkLinee guida sui contenuti