Luna Vani

Joined November 2025

63 stories

Bio

I gather broken pieces and turn them into light

Stories (63)

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The Doll Who Knew All Her Secrets
There was a little girl who believed that quiet things had voices. Her name was Mira, and she lived in a small apartment where the walls hummed softly at night, as if remembering old conversations. Her parents were kind but busy, always moving through rooms with phones pressed to their ears, calendars folded into their hands. They loved her, but love sometimes arrived late, like letters with faded stamps.
By Luna Vani21 days ago in Humans
What We Didn’t Survive
We loved each other like people who thought time was infinite. We said later as if it were a promise, not a cliff. Now I carry your absence
By Luna Vani21 days ago in Poets
The Way You Stay
Love didn’t arrive like thunder. It came like evening light— slow, patient, learning the shape of my walls. You stayed.
By Luna Vani21 days ago in Poets
A Faith I Had to Unlearn Before I Could Believe Again
I fall to the ground beside a nameless road, Somewhere memory forgot how to speak. I lift what’s left behind— A weathered weight of belief,
By Luna Vani21 days ago in Poets
Empty Room
The clock ticks on, but time feels still, A hollow echo in the corners of my will. I reach for you in shadows deep, But find only memories I cannot keep.
By Luna Vani23 days ago in Poets
When the Cypress Whispers
At first light, when the fog still clings to the water like drifting silk, Old Cypress Bayou breathes in silence. Great limbs of ancient cypress drip with moss that shimmers like silver lace. The air smells of damp wood and wild mint, and somewhere unseen, a heron lifts off with a low, echoing cry. This place is more than land and water; it is memory and myth — a living tapestry woven by every frog’s chorus, every glint of sunrise on black water, every whispered secret between reeds.
By Luna Vani23 days ago in The Swamp
The Weight We Carry
In Europe, winter has a particular honesty. It doesn’t ask who you are or what you pretend to be. It simply arrives—gray, slow, unapologetic—and expects you to survive it. I learned this one January morning in Berlin, watching my breath fog the air like a confession I wasn’t ready to say aloud.
By Luna Vani23 days ago in Men
In the Space Between Us
In the silence, I hear your whisper A gentle breeze that stirs my soul Your touch ignites a flame that flickers A warmth that spreads, making me whole
By Luna Vani29 days ago in Poets
Lost in the Haze
In twilight's whisper, shadows play Echoes of you, in endless sway A lonely heart, in vacant space A soul adrift, in a forgotten place
By Luna Vani29 days ago in Poets
The Erasure of Silas Thorne
The clinic did not look like a place where souls were altered. It looked like a high-end spa in the heart of Zurich—all white linen, soft ambient bird-call recordings, and the faint, sterile scent of ozone. Silas Thorne sat in the leather chair, his hands trembling.
By Luna Vaniabout a month ago in Psyche
A Paradox of the Soul
The Aethelgard was not just a ship; she was a legend of the salt and spray. For forty years, she had carried spices, silk, and secrets across the shifting currents of the Ionian Sea. But today, as she sat in the dry docks of Corinth, she looked more like a skeleton than a queen.
By Luna Vaniabout a month ago in History
The Red Year
The winter of 1875 did not end with the thaw. For the Lakota Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho, the cold lingered in the form of an ultimatum from the United States government: return to the designated Indian agencies by January 31, 1876, or be branded "hostile."
By Luna Vaniabout a month ago in History