A Tattered Web Novels & Stories

The swirling constellations that were supposed to catch the light and scatter it like a thousand tiny suns now lay limp and lifeless. the delicate, filigree-like filaments of silver and gold thread—the fabric was now matted and stained. Tattia had used a technique that made the threads look like intricate spiderwebs woven with droplets of mercury and liquid gold. It was a subtle, elegant nod to The Arrea's heritage, a connection to his world I was so desperately trying to understand. Now, the whispers were silent, drowned out by the act of a cruel and petty mind. “Tattia, it’s okay. I know you worked hard on it, and I’m sorry it got ruined. Don’t worry, I’ll find another dress. I heard the o

Ryan thought with a self-mocking smile. Tally sat down behind her desk. She felt the suffocating weight of her crumbling personal life. The files on her desk blurred before her eyes, the words becoming a jumbled mess of meaningless symbols. Tally’s hands trembled as she reached for the papers, struggling to maintain composure amidst the chaos that had suddenly infiltrated her world.

A rhythm like a heartbeat that did not belong to any living creature. Kael? The thought was a thread. Draven? Another. But the column did not return them to her. Instead, it dragged her higher, deeper, outward—a direction she hadn’t known existed until now. Her limbs dissolved. Her breath scattered. Her ribs became architecture, unmapped and undone. And above her, around her, within her— The web vibrated. Not a spider’s web. Not the network that once anchored the Vale. This was a web woven from the bones of every reality the world had ever carried. A web made of:

Resting my elbow on the seat-arm and with my chin on my hand, I shut out the cattle market throb around me. The satisfaction granted by deciding to leave Edinburgh was brief. A morbid album, the oppressive carriage and Ryan's silence fragmented my sense of purpose. Doubts seeped through the cracks. I swallowed, sniffed and dragged my sleeve quickly across my cheek to remove a sudden tear. While I reached into my bag for a tissue, the woman threatened to try again at conversation but I turned away sharply.

Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, trembling. The weight of the truth pressed on her like iron chains. The surviving baby’s life or lives was tangled in a web of deception and danger, and for the first time, she realized that nothing she had known could protect her. The air in the room felt too thick, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something metallic, a reminder of the hospital and the trauma she had barely survived.

The cries that rattled through her marrow were not echoes of some distant vision but the physical manifestation of a world in agony. Her hand raked through her wild auburn hair, dragging snarls free with impatient force. The strands caught on a spiderweb stretched between branches, fragile as spun glass. Normally, she would have paused, admired the dew-beaded silken threads that glittered like necklaces strung for fae. But no dew clung there tonight. The web was brittle, crumbling at her touch, as though scorched by invisible flame. Mirra cursed under her breath and pulled her hand away.

Tears overflowed my heated eyes again. He tensed, “Oh, no. Are you crying again?” worry laced his tone. I buried my face further on his chest, my tears soaking his shirt. He patted my back, “It breaks my heart to hear you cry. It feels like I’m getting burnt alive. Stop, please.” He pleaded, ripping my torn heart even further.

I could hardly hear them over the silent cries of my heart. Their words hung in the air, a fragile bridge of support stretched across the abyss. I clung to it, recognizing the genuine love that emanated from those who cared for me, yet the bridge seemed fragile, and the abyss, insurmountable. "Maybe you should talk to someone, a professional. It might help." Zyra, my best friend, advised yesterday. But why does no one understand that I am not ill? I am just lost, I am hollow and fucking empty. I am just numb and frustrated with no way to let my frustration out.

Soon I zoned out and was only me the music. "Look for thorns in the roses, perfect little posers." London: "Hiding behind closets, planning your demise, shit!" "Everybody blame the misfits and eccentric." London: "This world's already fucked, we didn't add anything to it!" "Crying out for help!" London: "Crying out for fucking help!" "No one seems to care!" London "She was the only one to scrape her hands!" "For the rose in the thorn bush!" Another musical interlude ensues and London repeats the first verse as the song is structured like that.

Ava stopped breathing, but that was not all, she flipped another page and saw some recent texts. “Harper: Don't get greedy yet.” “Tristan: Relax. I know what I'm doing.” The room spun, her vision blurred. As she flipped page by page she her entire world came crashing down. The two people she trusted most were the reason why she’s losing everything. Tears poured down her face as her hands trembled violently. “It was all an elaborate plan, they planned to ruin me,” she cried into the night. “The timeline of us meeting, the seduction, the affair, everything had been part of the plan.”