Showing results by author "Darlene Zagata" in All Categories

Your Words Shape Your World Welcome to The Mega Book of Affirmations — a guide, a companion, and a mirror to your most powerful self. Affirmations are more than just feel-good phrases. They are focused declarations that shape your mindset, align your energy, and reprogram your beliefs. When spoken with intention, emotion, and belief, affirmations can radically shift your inner world — and your outer reality follows. This book was born from a simple truth: You become what you consistently say, feel, and believe. Whether you're seeking healing, success, love, peace, abundance, or courage,...

“In the beginning, there was the phone. And it was good. Too good.” Once upon a time, humans walked the earth with their heads held high — literally. They made eye contact. They talked. With their actual mouths. These strange, ancient beings — let’s call them Pre-iZombians — read physical books, made awkward small talk in elevators, and suffered the cruel torment of waiting in line without entertainment. It was a savage, barbaric time. Then came the glow. It began innocently enough: a message here, a selfie there, a map to avoid the existential terror of asking for directions. ...

They came for silence. For wind in the trees, for the stillness of moss and mist, for mornings that didn’t reek of smog or subway grease. They came for the illusion of distance—distance from people, from problems, from the weight of years spent in too-small apartments and too-loud rooms. Charlotte thought peace would feel warm, like a blanket. Instead, it felt hollow. Quiet wasn’t just absence; sometimes it had shape. Sometimes, it watched. The house was beautiful. The trees were endless. The town was strange, yes—but charming, in that self-sufficient way of old places untouched by ...

There was a time when Earth was home. It was chaotic, flawed, and full of pain—but it was real. We knew the ground beneath us, the sky above, and the seasons in between. We understood storms and droughts and the miracle of survival. We feared nature because we respected it. And then we lost it. Virelia was supposed to be our redemption—a new beginning carved from the ruins of our failures. A perfect world, untouched by pollution, war, or time. It offered peace, balance, and the illusion of control. But paradise has a price. Beneath the flawless skies and peaceful meadows lies a question...

The hum of the temporal displacement chamber was a lullaby Roger had come to both cherish and fear. Tonight, it was a desperate plea. Weeks had bled into a silent agony since the light of Project AEON's prototype had swallowed his wife, Rita, and their team whole. The official reports offered sterile condolences and closed files, another casualty of bleeding-edge science. But Roger knew better. He had held Rita's hand as they charted the impossible, mapped the currents of time itself. He knew the whispers of branching realities, the echoes of what-ifs that shimmered just beyond their grasp....

Long Before the Fall… They had mastered the oceans, the stars, and even the currents of time. Their cities shimmered not with stone, but with living metal that pulsed in harmony with the thoughts of those who dwelled within. On the eve of collapse, silence fell across the central spire of Va'resh-Tal—their capital and sanctuary. Above, the heavens boiled with crimson light as gravitational storms licked the planet’s surface. The sea had already begun to rebel. Inside a vaulted chamber, glowing in hues unknown to the human eye, a single figure stepped forward. Tall and lithe, neither ...

Within these pages lies a tale of secrets, shadows, and suspense. "The Secrets of Blackwood Manor" invites you to step across the threshold into a world where the line between reality and the supernatural blurs, where the past refuses to stay buried, and where love blossoms amidst an atmosphere of chilling dread. Eleanor Van Worth, a young governess with a keen intellect and a courageous heart, arrives at the imposing Blackwood Manor to care for the children of a recently widowed father. The grand yet decaying mansion immediately reveals its enigmatic nature—locked doors, hidden ...

There’s a moment in Scripture that never fails to move me. Jesus walks along the Sea of Galilee. He sees two brothers—Peter and Andrew—casting a net into the water. Fishermen. Ordinary men, busy with their daily work. And then, with just two words, Jesus changes everything: “Follow Me.” No flashy sermon. No promises of comfort or success. Just a simple invitation. And something inside them knew: this was worth leaving everything for. They dropped their nets. They walked away from what they knew. And they followed Him. That invitation didn’t stop at the shoreline. It still echoes...

Some places whisper. Others remember. Maple Hill Cemetery was never quiet — not really. Even in the stillest hours, when the gates were locked and the night was thick as ink, something in the soil hummed. Not loud. Not urgent. But steady. Like breathing. It wasn’t the kind of place most people visited unless they had to. But for Sam Whitaker, it was home. Not in the sense of birthright or blood, but in the way someone might belong to silence. Or to sorrow. Sam didn’t talk much. But the dead listened anyway.

Elias Calder had always felt out of place in the modern world. A craftsman in an age of algorithms, he preferred parchment to pixels, quill to keyboard. From a small stone workshop on the edge of an old European town, he restored antique maps with near-obsessive precision. But one map was unlike the others. It came with no provenance. No origin. Inked in strange, metallic script that shimmered faintly under moonlight. It had been buried inside a false-bottomed crate marked for destruction—a gift from a late grandfather he hardly remembered. Elias filed it away. Until the solar eclipse. As...

Introduction – Observation: Obsession File Name: [HumanBehavior_Archive_Calyx_Entry_0001] Timestamp: 07:14:52 — January 3, 2032 Subject: Collective Cognitive Dissonance Let us begin with the phenomenon known as texting. A cultural artifact of the early twenty-first century that has since devolved into a frantic, digital drumbeat of insecurity and compulsion. The subject of today's sample: a 28-year-old male named Grayson, who, between the hours of 00:00 and 23:59 yesterday, texted the phrase “u up?” seventy-four times to the same recipient. Seventy. Four. He varied it once: “U ...

For centuries, we have walked with the certainty of a singular path—that humanity evolved in a straight line, one species outlasting the rest. But what if that story was never complete? What if the truth had been buried, not by time, but by intention? In the darkest corners of the earth, where sunlight seldom touches, remnants of forgotten peoples lie hidden beneath layers of stone and silence. These were not myth, nor were they monsters. They were our brothers. Our sisters. Our reflections fractured across time. This is the journey of one woman who dared to follow those shadows into the ...

“They say stories can’t hurt you. That ink is harmless. But they’ve never read the kind that breathes.” I hadn’t spoken to my grandmother in almost twelve years when the letter arrived. No call. No email. Just parchment paper, heavy with the scent of lavender and smoke, tucked into a wax-sealed envelope like something out of another century. The message was short — typed on an old typewriter, her signature scrawled in trembling black ink at the bottom. Eleanor, The Nest is yours now. Do not let the pages be opened. Not unless you’re willing to finish what I started. —Aurelia...

In the heart of South America, where the canopy thickens and shadows dance beneath the towering trees, lies a realm untouched by time—a place where nature claims dominion over the ancient whispers of humanity's past. The dense jungles are alive with the symphony of rustling leaves and distant cries of wildlife, yet buried beneath the surface are remnants of a long-forgotten civilization. Dr. Lena Torres, an archaeologist with a passion for uncovering the stories woven into the fabric of history, leads an ambitious expedition to this dense wilderness, driven by dreams of grand discoveries ...

Forest Friends:Tales of Wonder is a heartwarming children's book that follows the adventures of four delightful characters: a clever fox, a wise owl, a playful rabbit, and a curious bear cub. As they explore their enchanting forest home, they encounter exciting challenges, meet new friends, and learn meaningful lessons about sharing, teamwork, and the joy of helping others. Packed with fun adventures and valuable life lessons, Forest Friends inspires young readers to embrace kindness, friendship, and the wonders of the natural world.

The ocean remembers everything. Long after wreckage is rusted through and flesh has turned to salt, something still lingers in the abyss—a frequency beneath sonar, a breath between waves. It is not a voice, not exactly. But it whispers. To those who dive deep enough, long enough, and return with their minds frayed by pressure and silence… it speaks. They say it’s the sea playing tricks. They’re wrong.

Paradox Point wasn’t on any map. Not a real one, anyway. It stood on the edge of a coastal bluff where the cliffs were sharp enough to bite through tires, and the winds came in off the sea like old ghosts with something to prove. The locals didn’t mention it. The GPS spun in lazy circles when anyone got too close. And still — it had five stars online. A perfect score. Dozens of glowing reviews. “A serene escape.” “A week of peace I’ll never forget.” “Changed my life.” No one ever mentioned the owner. No photos. No full names. Just initials, vague praise, and one oddity ...

The fog rolled in just after midnight—thick and low, like something alive. It lapped at the edge of the dock, swallowing the crooked lamplight and muffling the world into a wet, gray hush. The harbor, usually humming with the low groan of shifting ships and clanking chains, was silent. Too silent. Eli Morgan stood at the edge of the pier, hands in his coat pockets, collar up against the wind. His boots tapped softly against the warped planks, a slow metronome counting down the seconds past 2:17 a.m. The ship should have been here by now. He pulled the slip of paper from his coat—a ...

(Voice of Kaelen Myles — recorded entry, never sent) I used to believe in causality— that everything could be explained if you tracked the data long enough. Wind shifts because of heat. Clouds form because of pressure. People choose because of pain or desire. But then the sky changed its mind. The first time it happened, I was in a tundra storm outside Kotzebue. I’d seen dozens before. But this one pulsed. Not in the atmosphere—in me. I whispered a thought I hadn’t said aloud in years, and the wind answered. Not metaphorically. It changed direction. That’s when the patterns ...

Barrow Street, Autumn, 1956 The house was quiet now. The scratching had stopped. Professor Adrian Thorne sat at the attic desk, a candle flickering at his side, its flame casting thin, uneasy shadows along the sloped ceiling. His once-proud handwriting had grown more erratic, smudged with ink and sweat. In front of him, on a faded velvet cloth, sat the object that had stolen his sleep. A figurine — no taller than a man’s hand, carved from something darker than ebony. Humanoid in shape, but its face was blank. Two outstretched hands curved upward in a gesture both pleading and commanding...