Inktail - Roxil - Wattpad

Story cover for Inktail by RoxiltheDragon

Inktail

LECTURAS 2,656
Votos 323
Partes 11
Hora 57m

LECTURAS 2,656
Votos 323
Partes 11
Hora 57m

adventure ancient fantasy fiction ink love modern tail time timetravel writing

I've been around the world... five times. I've known kings and queens and slaves and drudges, I've seen things... things you would never believe. I've written the beginning of every book ever finished, and the end of every book ever written. I've watched stars fall and moons rise for countless years... but I've never met someone like this.

How can anyone have done all those things, you ask? I would have to be older than living memory. You want to learn my secret? The secret of the first word? The first glyph scratched into a tablet with a stick, thousands upon thousands of years ago? 

Well, I'll tell you... on that day, before years were recorded, when everyone counted by moons and suns, the very first word was stamped into wet clay with a papyrus reed, in a small house in the middle of what is now Syria... and at that same instant, I took my first gasping breath in a tiny fishing hut by the Red Sea...

Highest known ranking: #215in AdventureTodos los derechos reservados

adventure ancient fantasy fiction ink love modern tail time timetravel writing

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Slide 1 of 9

Guardians of the Heart cover

The Contract cover

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Dragon's curse cover

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Guardians of the Heart

They say madness runs in the blood. If that's true, then I'm already drowning in it. I dream of cats who speak in riddles, of stars that bleed light, of hearts that throb beneath soil and stone like they're trying to escape. Most nights, I wake up with the echo of a heartbeat in my ears-never mine, always someone else's. Louder. Closer. My aunt says it's just the wind. The others in the village say it's something worse. We don't talk about dreams here. We till the earth, we bake our bread, and we keep our heads down. Dreamers don't last long in places like this. And girls like me-girls who see more than they should, who hear what no one else can-they don't get happy endings. They get whispers. Looks. Doors shut a little too hard. So I've learned to pretend. I smile when I'm supposed to, nod when I'm spoken to. I hide my journal beneath the loose floorboard, the one that creaks only if you step just wrong. No one knows what I write there. No one knows that sometimes, in the quiet, I can feel the weight of a thousand hearts pressing against mine. Longing. Ache. Something else I can't name. Until last night, I thought I was still pretending. Then the cat came. She didn't knock, didn't ask. Just sat on the windowsill like she owned the moonlight and said- "You're late, Inimar. The hearts are dying."