Historical Fiction
The Man, The Mountain, and The Climb
". . .He keeps climbing because stopping would mean surrendering everything he has built, every promise he swore to keep. The air thins as he ascends, and though he’s given everything—strength, time, conviction—the mountain gives little back. Once, it felt sacred to climb.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast4 months ago in Chapters
The Princess Who Spoke to the Wind: The Hidden Truth About Pocahontas
After her death in England, witnesses reported strange occurrences near her grave: gusts of wind that carried whispers in Algonquian, trees bending toward the churchyard, and flowers that bloomed out of season.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
The Clockmaker’s Daughter: The Hidden Origin of Belle
In 1789 Paris, a reclusive inventor named Étienne Beaumont created a series of clockwork automatons said to move like living creatures. His daughter, Isabelle, kept their gears oiled and whispered stories to them at night.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
Sleeping with Ghosts: The Forgotten Sister of Tiana
In 1920s New Orleans, long before the jazz age reached its peak, there was a young chef named Eudora LaRue — rumored to have cooked gumbo that could wake the dead. She claimed her recipes came from “the river people,” spirits who whispered in her dreams.
By GoldenSpeech4 months ago in Chapters
A World Apart.
Aziza stood in the garden of her mother’s ancestral home. Humid air thick with hibiscus and frangipani clung to her skin. Gravel crunched under servants’ careful steps, baskets of laundry and trays of fruit balanced expertly in their arms. Whitewashed walls glowed in the late sun; balconies draped with bougainvillea brushing against carved stone. Bees darted through the blooms; a bird’s sharp cry cut the courtyard murmur.
By Gladys Kay Sidorenko4 months ago in Chapters
A World Apart
Aziza leaned against the doorway, watching the familiar chaos unfold around her like a favourite play rehearsed a hundred times. Her mother, Helen, glided through the hall with the elegance of a queen, her silk scarf trailing behind her like a banner. “Samuel, the passports—where are they? I won’t have us stranded at Heathrow because you think jokes are luggage,” she scolded, though her lips curved with affection.
By Gladys Kay Sidorenko4 months ago in Chapters










