The Assassin and the Ice Portal

Storytime

In a secluded corner of an ancient city tucked between towering trees, wrapped in silence, and invisible to wandering eyes, I lived a life no one questioned. Solitude suited me. It kept my secrets close.

My origins are a haze, a riddle with no beginning. I cannot tell you who raised me, where I first learned my name, or how I ended up in that forgotten town.

But I carried one thing with me always: a carved, marked blade that whispered when I spoke to it. It answered questions no human could. It opened places no map dared to record.

On a night drenched in moonlight, when the veil between worlds thinned to a breath, I stepped outside beneath a sky littered with stars. With my blade in hand, I murmured old words. Words I had no memory of learning.

With my blade I traced a doorway into the air. Its edges flashed white, cold as the walls of a glacier. Frost bit into my fingertips as I stepped through.

The first breath inside the passage was ice-cold. The second was a warm, tropical breeze.

I opened my eyes to a sun-soaked coastline. Palm trees, heat shimmering off ancient stone, and a frail old man, stumbling toward me with a concerned expression.

He lifted a hand to speak to me, but a sudden crack split the air. He dropped to the ground, struck from behind. Blood flowed from the back of his head. He was dead.

His attacker stepped forward: a man in a black suit, his face unnervingly perfect. He did not even look at me when he said: “Turn back. You’re not welcome here. He’s furious.”

My pulse quickened. The dead old man at my feet… the familiar heat of the sun… The handsome man in a black suit. Something shifted inside me.

I knew this place.
I knew who he meant.
And I remembered our story.

My warlord - the one waiting for me - wasn’t just dangerous. He was a terror, a plague in human skin. I had been bound to him by contract, by seduction, by lies sharp enough to cut bone. I had killed for him when I was was barely more than a child. But today I would send him to hell. And if he refused to go, I would accompany him there to make sure he did not draw another breath.

The man in the black suit didn’t wait for my answer. He simply turned toward the ruins rising above the mountain path, and started walking. I followed him. He did not look back at me. Each step up the crumbling stone felt like walking toward a version of myself I had tried to forget.

We arrived at the top and the man in the black suit walked on towards the entrance of the place. In front of the entrance stood a big bodyguard with face tattoos, staring straight ahead.

There was a large patio with a lounge area with cushioned seating and a firepit in the middle.

There he was. He stood near the firepit, wearing a white linen suit, immaculate against the dust and heat. His gaze didn’t observe me; it cut through me. I walked slowly toward him, keeping my eyes fixated on him; if he tasted any fear, I would be food.

“What you did,” he said in his quiet raspy voice, “was not my assignment.”

“Do it again, and I’ll end you myself,” he whispered. He grabbed my chin, then with his thumb he traced the line of my neck. He pressed it against the hollow between my collarbones, then kissed me hard, punishing, possessive.

I gasped for air. I kept my hands still at my sides; wiping my mouth would have been an insult he wouldn’t tolerate. I waited for the fraction of a second he turned away. That was enough.

In that second I drew my blade, pushed it into his chest and yanked it back out.

He staggered, clutching the blooming stain of red across his white suit. His expression was not anger, nor pain, but disbelief. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

Behind me, heavy footsteps scraped stone.
The massive bodyguard with his tattooed face ran toward us. No time to climb down the ruins. I sprinted towards the edge as stones crumbled beneath my feet. A gunshot cracked behind me. A bullet sliced fabric near my ribs. I didn’t look back. I jumped.

The fall lasted only a few seconds, while my blade slipped from my coat, clattering against rock before disappearing. Then: impact. Cold water swallowed me whole.

In the dark water beneath the surface, I kept my eyes closed and pressed a finger to my chest.
I whispered the same ancient words I once spoke to the blade; words that now lived in my bones.

In the dark waters, a light flared beneath, shaping itself into a door of ice, the water grew even colder. I swam towards it and went through the ice portal, feeling immense coldness.

The blade remained behind in that world, like the last bone of a life I refused to keep living.

And just like that, the tropical heat had vanished.

I wound up home in my bed, clothes drenched, body feeling like ice, shivering while my heart was still pounding with the echo of gunfire and my betrayal.

It ended with survival, and the certainty that the doorway could open again at any time. I didn’t need the blade. I was the blade.

Till the next storytime,

Love, Gloria

When the Sky Came Down

STORY TIME

I lived in a gorgeous big white house made of glass. There were huge glass windows all around the house. Even the roof of the living room was completely made out of glass. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, lighting up the entire living room. A few clouds, soft as brushstrokes, drifted across the sky.

This was a place of peace and rest, light and warmth. I was sitting barefoot on the floor knitting a cord. Why was I knitting a cord? I could not tell you.

The moment they left, the stillness deepened. And then
it happened…

My siblings were visiting and hung out in another room. After a while they appeared in the doorway, cheerful and casual, telling me they were going shopping and asked if I wanted to come with them. I declined because I was enjoying myself. I smiled, greeted them, and went back to my knitting.

The moment they left, the stillness deepened. And then… it happened…

With a deafening bang, something erupted from the floor beside me — a massive rope, thick enough to anchor a ship, shot straight upward through the living room, tearing through the stillness and splitting the serene space in two. It tore through the glass ceiling and broke it open.

I jumped aside to avoid the falling shards of glass and watched, stunned, as the rope continued its ascent - rising higher and higher, past the clouds, until it vanished into infinity.

I stood in awe while looking up at the rope in the sky, unable to comprehend how something so immense could emerge from the depths of the earth and reach endlessly into the sky.

For a moment, everything was suspended in awe.

Then the rope began to fall - fast, heavy, unstoppable. It felt as though someone released it from above, and at the same time, as if I were somehow pulling it down myself.

Then… the rope dragged the entire sky down with it.

It crashed through the glass ceiling and plunged back into the same hole in the floor from which it had first erupted. And something had come down. A serene darkness.

All at once, the entire firmament hung above me like a new ceiling within arm’s reach. I felt as though I could bump my head against it.

It was a deep, deep dark blue — almost black, yet unmistakably blue — a shade I had never seen before. Majestic, breathtaking, and terrifying all at once, it felt like a vast blanket descending over my head.

I suddenly felt small, as though I were a miniature version of myself, and the firmament a giant bending low to study me with its immense, unseen face.

The air was thick with mystery. I stood there in awe and fear, in the middle of my living room with the floor torn open and the ceiling shattered, craning my neck upward until it almost hurt to look.

Then, my siblings returned from shopping. I ran to them, trying to explain what I’d witnessed. “Did you see the sky?” I asked.

“It was right here, just above us! Deep, very deep DARK blue, almost close enough to touch!”

They gazed at me with quiet bewilderment and shrugged their shoulders. As if nothing had happened beyond the windows, the sky had returned to its pale serenity, the clouds drifting lazily through sunlight. The floor was sealed, the glass ceiling flawless once more. The vision was gone — dissolved into the ordinary. Only I had seen it…

Ever since that day, I still look up, half expecting the sky to lean closer again.

Until next time, luv ya.
Gloria

“The story ends here, but your reflection begins at Haus of Healing where symbols speak and souls remember.”

— Gloria Becker