There was only one rule: don’t open the door. But Evangeline did. Now the house speaks in riddles and the clock runs in reverse. Her fate was sealed long before the latch clicked. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Some doors don’t open — they consume.
Category Archives: River and Celia
”Sound of the Underland” is a captivating blog series featuring original stories and poems by River and Celia in Underland. This collection showcases their unique voices, blending elements of fantasy, introspection, and raw emotion. Each piece invites readers into a world where the boundaries between reality and imagination
original stories, poetry, River and Celia in Underland, fantasy literature, introspective writing, emotional storytelling, creative fiction, imaginative narratives.
Dispatches from the Void. V. VI
Back from Turkey and quietly reflecting on the uneasy mix of beauty and loss. A rich culture overshadowed by British tourism leaves behind more questions than comfort. As we return to our quiet life with the cats, our sights turn to Thailand—and the ongoing pursuit of something real, rooted, and ours.
You Called It Glory. It Was Just Death.
When war scorched the earth and the gods could no longer bear to watch, the sun itself turned away.
This speculative short story weaves a brutal, mythic tale of violence, divine reckoning, and the collapse of honor on the battlefield.
As brothers fall and the world darkens, only silence — and surrender — remain.
What happens when even the sky says: enough?
Socks, Sandals, and the Sun We Stole
A searing poetic critique of modern tourism, Flatbreads and Fags explores how paradise becomes parody under the weight of entitlement. From chip-stacked buffets to bikini-clad colonisers, this visceral piece pulls no punches. A street-level lament for stolen culture, served with brown sauce and shame.
Dispatches from the Void. V. V
A strange kind of paradise — this week we reflect on the tension between beauty and performance in Marmaris. Between sun-drenched mornings and staged culture, we’re caught in a tourist dreamscape that leaves us missing home, our cats, and a quieter kind of magic.
Dispatches from the Void. V.IV
Underland Dispatch: New Shop, Old Chickens, and Imminent Escape
We opened a cursed little shop. We’re packing for Turkey. The chicken keeps coming in the kitchen. The cats are suspicious. There’s a Discord now. Also: zine launch, stray diplomacy, mild existentialism, and biscuits. Come for the queer chaos, stay for the literary crumbs.
Dispatches from the Void. V.III
It’s very strange being abroad while your country is in turmoil. There’s a sense of survivor’s guilt, mixed with a helpless “how do I get my family and friends out?”—and of course, the realization that none of that is simple. Immigration is difficult no matter where you go.
Dispatches from the Void. V.II
The household remains in upheaval as the energetic spaniel continues her reign of terror. The cats are plotting. We spectate. And await our fate.
Dispatches from the Void. V I.
Poe Bans Physics: Declares Floor “Emotionally Hostile”.
