Daily Writing Prompts discussion
Daily Writing Prompts
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11/10/25
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It snowed last night for the first time where I live too!It’s also been snowing all day! (I’m thrilled)
This prompt reminds me of the movie “30 Days Of Night” so now i want to write something about vampiressssss(but I won’t)
Mod
Mod
I am sooo down for a vampire story!! I was thinking about writing a story with them in it earlier, and it's what inspired me for the prompt. I'd love to see your take on it!!
Oooh! If I wasn’t working on my own story I’d write a vampire one!!!
Mod
Ohkk I'm getting kinda excited Abt this topic
@bella that is so trueee I would so appreciate 25-26 hour a day man there is sm to do and so little time 😭
Just finished my story for this prompt!It’s called: “The Witching Hour”
So idea I came up with had a lot of moving parts, but bc I didn’t want it to be super long, that meant I didn’t have much room to really flesh out some of the history/world building/characters in this story.
And all of that means that the end product is kinda vague in certain aspects, but I hope u guys like it anyway😅
Also, @Bella, I did end up writing a vampire story😄
“She’s sick.” The physician’s voice rings out in the silent fire lit room, his words directed to me but his eyes on my little sister lying on the small bed.“How bad is it?” My voice quivers, my hands wringing in the heavy fabric of my dress. “Is she- is she going to die?”
The physician- Dr. Monroe- turns to me with a weighted look in his eyes.
“Not on her own….not as she is now.” Tears spill over my eyes as his words sink in. Not as she is now…not if she’s human.
My eyes dart to the grandfather clock on the wall. “Eleven-twenty-five.” I murmur to myself. I have time.
Dr. Monroe stands, his hands fisted at his sides. “Don’t. It’s not safe out there.” His wizened face pales at the look in my eyes.
“I can’t let her die, and you know as well as I that this eternal night means that it’s never safe- not ever.” I croak, bolting from the room and bursting through the front door and out onto the dark, silent street.
My bare feet tear on the rough cobblestone road, the night air burning my lungs and on my tear-stained cheeks as I race against the ticking clock of fate.
The heavy dress tangles in my legs, slowing me down. I push past the stitch forming in my thigh, reminding myself of what’s at stake if I’m out here when the witching hour comes to past….what will be out here with me.
I rip the dress free, stumbling over the mass of fabric as my feet catch in the gown sliding down from my hips. I leave the dress behind, running only in the thin slip I wore underneath.
Eleven-forty-eight.
My eyes narrow on the foreboding oak marking the entrance to the forest.
I pause for only a moment, looking back at the town long faded in the distance and Dr. Monroe’s words echo in my mind. “Don’t. It’s dangerous.”
Eleven-fifty
I bound past the tree, ignoring the clawing branches scratching at my face and the chilling breeze snaking through the thin slip draped on my body.
Monsters stalk these woods, they kill anyone roaming the streets when the clock strikes twelve.
They thrive in this place. In this world where the sun set a thousand years ago and never again rose.
Fresh tears fall from my eyes and the moonlit clearing ahead is burred.
Eleven-fifty-nine
I collapse at the edge of the clearing, my body trembling… everything hurts.
I close my eyes, picturing my sister’s small, plaid face resting on the pillows. Her hair plastered to her skin.
I can’t stop. Not now.
I crawl on my knees to the center of the clearing, counting down the seconds in my head.
Forty-two.
Twigs and rocks dig into the flesh of my knees, the cold wind rustles my hair.
Twenty-one
Almost there.
I stagger to my feet in the center of the clearing, the low growls of creatures in the forest sounding loud in the silence.
Nine.
I bring my wrist to my lips.
Seven.
I sink my teeth into my soft flesh.
Four.
It hurts.
Three.
A metallic taste soaks my tongue.
Two.
I lower my arm, letting the blood drip onto the grass. I can feel the warmth from my blood on my lips.
One.
Their eyes are glowing in the trees.
The witching hour.
No turning back.
I feel his presence behind me, his cold body standing behind mine.
“My canarina.” He whispers.
“I need your help.” I gasp, his hand catching my wrist in his icy fingers.
“Oh?” He touches his lips to my wound. I fight pass the tremor that threatens to overtake me, swallowing hard and taking a breath.
“It’s my sister, she’s dying.” His tongue tastes the blood staining my skin and a low groan emanates from his chest.
“I cannot help the dead canarina,” he murmurs, his other hand creeping to my waist. “At least, not without a price.”
“I’ll pay it.”
“Will you?… will she?” I block out his last question. She doesn’t get a say.
“It doesn’t matter. She can hate me if she wants.” I mutter, letting him turn me so that our eyes meet.
His blue iris’s circled with red gazing into my green ones.
“What if I want you canarina? My pretty little songbird.” He teases, nipping at my neck.
“Then you can have me.” I don’t hesitate before answering- I can’t.
He freezes, his hand gripping my jaw before I can blink and turning it so that I can’t look away.
“Do not play games with me little songbird.” His voice is rough, the sharp point of his fangs shining in the light of the moon.
“I’m not.” I choke out, circling his wrist with my fingers. “I’m not.”
The red in his eyes begins to glow.
“Stai attento canarina mio.” His grip loosens, a small smile gracing his lips. “You asked for this little canarina.”
He doesn’t warn me before his teeth sink into my flesh.
I see bright colors in my eyes, and then I see nothing.
***
I wake up to the sound of a heartbeat- strong, rhythmic, and not my own. My eyes snap open. I’m back in the silent, fire-lit room. The flame flickers in the hearth, casting shifting shadows on the stone walls. My sister, Nadia, is still in the small bed, but her breathing is even, her pale face peaceful. The heavy, oppressive silence of the world outside seems a little less final in here.
A soft groan escapes my lips as I try to sit up. A wave of dizziness crashes over me, and I fall back against the pillows of the small cot I’d been laid upon. A cool hand presses against my forehead.
“Easy there little songbird, you are not yet whole.”
“Nadia?” I rasp.
“Is transitioning. She will die, but it will not be permanent.” He places the back of his cold but comforting hand on my cheek. “Soon she will wake.”
I hear a hoarse cough and sit up in bed, my heart hammering in my chest.
“You’ve doomed both yourself and your poor sister to hell.” Spits Dr. Monroe from his seat in the chair by the fire. “Satan’s spawn.” He glares at my dark savior’s grinning face, his eyes two dark saucers in the light of the flame. “You must leave.” He rumbles. “You are not among the living, none of you are.”
***
Nadia was carried in his arms as we made our way to the forest.
“You are one of us now.” He says, his back to me as he crosses the big oak.
“I know.” I say quietly.
“Good.”
@OpheliaCrossing my fingers that it’s good😅😅😅
Mod
"Write a story where the sun never sets."
Have fun, and happy writing!