The messenger arrived at the manor at the hour when afternoon begins to loosen its grip on the day. The road had been long and quiet, winding through hedgerows and fields that breathed softly beneath a pale sky. Dust clung to the hems of their coat. The parcel rested in the crook of their arm, wrapped in dark paper and sealed with a ribbon the color of old wine. No one answered the gate. The manor stood still behind iron bars and ivy-covered walls, its windows reflecting noth

do you hear the voice of my heart? it is wrapped in sincerity and clarity. kindly show me the way to you. patiently teach me the language of your soul so I can worship you with songs. the stars will sustain our prayers while guiding our ways. it has been revealed to me that love is the only true religion. This piece is an excerpt from thoughts of love by Sunday Bloo. © 2026 Sunday Bloo. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or adapted without writ

In the jeweled city of sunburnt domes and saffron winds, the wealthiest merchant in all the desert lands was shaken awake before dawn. “Wake, my love,” his bride whispered urgently. Her voice trembled like a reed over water. The merchant stirred beneath silk blankets embroidered with gold thread. Morning had not yet broken across the horizon; the lamps still glowed faintly against painted walls. His young wife stood beside the bed in a pale robe, her dark hair loose down her