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Cynthia Farner

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2025

Stories (4)

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4 Stories

42 karma pts

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Echoes of Us

Echoes of UsIt was a quiet morning in a bustling café in the heart of the city, the kind of place where the hum of chatter and clink of coffee cups filled the air with a comforting routine. Alex had stopped by to grab a cup of coffee before diving into the chaos of his day, but as he walked in, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu wash over him. His eyes swept over the space, lingering on the familiar faces, the barista with the dark curls, the young woman sitting in the corner reading a book. But none of it felt quite like it should.The moment h...

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Lamenthorn

Submitted to Contest #304

**Lamenthorn.** It was not a word; it was a curse. A sound carried on war-torn winds and whispered through crumbling cathedrals. Children spoke it as a dare, and elders refused to speak it at all. Lamenthorn. A peak beyond the edge of the known world, where the sky hung low like a shroud and time festered in the rocks. No maps dared name it. No songs celebrated it. For what melody can tame a place where gods go to die? But one did not go to Lamenthorn by accident. No, you were *called*. And Rhiannon Stormbraid had been called. She was not a ...

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Witch, Please!

Submitted to Contest #301

Witch, Please! I only signed up for Mindfulness & Manifestation to skip gym.It was either that or three months of pretending to enjoy dodgeball with the same sophomore jocks who think deodorant is optional and “gay” is still an insult. Spoiler: I don’t dodge. I manifest. And I sure as hell don’t sweat on purpose.So when Ms. Delacourt breezed in on the first day wearing a silk kaftan and smelling like patchouli, I thought, Cool. Cult vibes. I can nap through this and maybe unlock my inner peace or whatever. I did not think, I will summon ...

12 likes

Her Last Loop

In the old days, they called it a justice system. Now they just call it The Spin.At 9:03 a.m., with mascara tears already webbing her cheekbones and her fake lashes flapping like panicked spiders, Isla Wren stood before the Wheel of Karma, wearing six-inch heels and exactly zero guilt.The courtroom wasn’t a courtroom. It was a streaming platform in disguise—an arena of chrome and LED light, with rows of watchers swiping hearts or vomiting emojis depending on the pulse of the narrative. Live comments crawled across the bottom of the feed.“She...

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