𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘨𝘰
𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘴, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘺; 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 - 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩: 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵, 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺, 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥
Following
Sign up to join the largest storytelling community
or
Story by sʜɪᴢᴜᴋᴀ
ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᵉˢ, ᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᶦⁿ |ᵀᶜᴼᴬᴬᴸ ˣ...
Once upon a time, there were three children who loved each other so much they locked the door and threw away...
