Soft-magic Stories

It started with the white room: a table, two chairs, a vase holding a flower the world refused to name, a window with white curtains and a cherry tree swaying beyond. Then came the throne hall, the silver crown, the open link of a chain, and a ring that is more door than circle. When a shadow with a black crown tore a hole through the ceiling and showed a gate of panic, the only answer was to make a place that could remember: a pond. Now the keeper stands watch with unlikely allies- Pyro, a red dragon crowned in silver, forged as guardian of the water; Mira, a silhouette split into two ravens, one returned in human shape; Emme, chaos incarnate, who swims backward and makes the surface laugh; Quakstein, the standing stone, who teaches the shore to stay; Martin, lantern-setter and finder of roads (and once, of Raylene, whose absence still bends the light). The pond writes in ripples. The ring wants to help. The crowns chime when a decision is true. And far off, the edited hole practices being a doorway that never lets go. Soft magic. Liminal spaces. Found family. A quiet war of patience.

A fairy tale that I didn't finish. Here it is in all it's glory or lack there of. I'm moving on to personal projects and hope I'll have more to post. This screenshot has nothing to do with the actual story. I don't have an actual cover, but when I get some drawing experience I will be uploading them. Please enjoy this short story. Feedback is welcomed.

It's my first published story, feedback is very welcome! *** Post doesn't just show up in Rowan Mirek's seaside city; it modifies reality. Saying "thank you" makes everyone happy. A map acknowledges that it is lost. The changes are sustained by witnesses. Nudges are more appealing to Rowan than storms. Then he discovers a letter to himself in the future, which he declines to open. Dr Idris Valente, the archivist at Lighthouse, is aware that undeliverables select their audience. For reasons of its own, the Dead-Letter Office loudly concurs and starts sending the incorrect letters to the correct recipients. As the stacks whisper and bureaucrats sniff around, Rowan and Idris must choose between risking their carefully guarded hearts, the truth, or silence. With a living archive and an eavesdropping city, it's a medium-low-stakes slow burn that's whimsical, wistful, and extremely queer.