Storygram #150
It was said that the tree had endured such a traumatic event that it had shed its own branches in its grief, just as a person might tear his own clothes. But no one had even a guess as to what could make a tree so sorrowful.
Storygram #149
The butler leads me to a large room with a spiral staircase that is to be my living room with a study loft. Before he closes the double doors, he gives me a stern look. “Remember, do not enter the east wing, sir.”
Storygram #148
After a few more minutes, Molly looked at the time on the grandfather clock. She walked over to the door and stood with her hands folded. The music stopped, and everyone stood still, watching the door with smiles on their faces.
Storygram #147
The stacked stones that refused to fall greet me at the site of my most powerful memory. The trees have laid siege to it. The animals nest in its crevices. I touch the remains of my earliest home and feel that it is dead.
Storygram #146
“If you ever see the red door, take her. She only appears once to those who’ve heard of her. Lead you to adventure, she will. To another time when men fought for honor and sought justice. When valor was the man’s soulmate. When she appears, take her.”