Yahvelnek

 In the quiet town of Eldergrove, nestled among ancient oaks and cobblestone streets, lived a young girl named Miscka. Her heart overflowed with kindness, especially for the elderly. She would tend to their gardens, fix leaky faucets, and listen to their stories—their wrinkles like maps of forgotten adventures. One chilly evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Miscka received a frantic call. Mr. Kabbitt, a gentle soul with silver hair and a penchant for chess, had been attacked. The intruder had broken into his cozy home, shattering the peace that enveloped Eldergrove. Miscka’s rage ignited. She vowed that no one would harm the elders she cherished. With determination burning in her eyes, she retreated to her attic, where dust-covered tomes whispered secrets of forgotten magic. Miscka had always felt a connection to the mystical—the rustle of leaves, the moon’s glow, and the wind’s ancient songs. She chanted incantations, her voice trembling yet resolute. Four ethereal beings...

 Ahmed leaned against the counter, his impatience palpable. The convenience store was empty except for the old lady shuffling down the narrow aisle. Her silver hair framed a face etched with wisdom, and her eyes held secrets from centuries past. She moved slowly, examining each item as if it held the key to her existence. “Can I help you find something?” Ahmed’s tone was curt, his annoyance evident. The old lady smiled, revealing teeth stained with age. “Just browsing,” she replied, her voice a gentle whisper. “It’s a beautiful Tuesday, isn’t it?” Ahmed scoffed. “Beautiful? It’s just another day.” The old lady’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She paid for her small bag of groceries and left, her presence lingering like an ancient spell. That night, Ahmed returned home, exhausted from his shift. The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the room. As he undressed, he noticed a small figure on his dresser—a voodoo doll. Its threadbare fabric bore the unmistakabl...