Long ago, a wandering artist claimed he met a woman who spoke only in dreams. She said nothing, but her gaze told truths no voice could. He captured her in ink, and locals called her "The Ink Oracle."...

In the woods, the wind whispers among the trees. The whispers are of different people. Some are whispers of children giggling and loud talking. Some are of women crying and talking quietly. Sometimes men...

i used to think sadness was like rain, cold drops falling softly, quietly just dampening the skin. but it’s more like a thunderstorm, isn’t it? sharp streaks of light tearing the sky open, a...