Christopher Moss

Detective Eleanor "Ellie" Graves had spent over a decade chasing shadows criminals who thought they could outsmart the law, killers who believed they were untouchable. But even in her years of experience, nothing had prepared her for this.

The Whimsy Carnival didn’t arrive like normal circuses did. It didn’t come by train or truck. It didn’t announce itself with flyers or marching bands. It simply... appeared.

Recovering from coronary artery bypass grafting (CABG) surgery is not just about healing from an operation—it’s about embracing a lifestyle that protects and strengthens your heart for years to come. This book was written to guide patients, families, and caregivers through that journey.

What’s on the end of your fork! … A better understanding of diabetes and how to reduce or eliminate it altogether!

One moment, the late spring sky was nothing but sleepy gray clouds; the next, rain sheets fell hard and fast, soaking the earth, the gazebo, and the two people standing at the edge of something they didn’t dare to name.

The town of Ashford was nestled in the rolling hills of the English countryside, where time seemed to slow down, and the air whispered of history. Its cobblestone streets wound around old stone cottages, each dressed in ivy and surrounded by blooming gardens.

The wind howled through the streets, its furious gusts rattling their apartment windows as though nature was trying to break in. The storm outside was relentless, each gust of wind sending the rain tumbling down in sheets, blurring the world beyond the window.

The summer air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, which lingered on the skin long after the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Music from the town fair floated in from across the lake soft, distant, like a lullaby that didn’t know it was breaking two hearts.

The town of Laurel Cove was a picture-perfect paradise, nestled between rolling hills and a stretch of pristine coastline. The golden hues of the setting sun painted the sky every evening, reflecting off the bay's tranquil waters.

The wind rolled gently over the hills of Halewood, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, old roses, and something far more intangible memory.

The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the small attic, where the dust seemed to settle on forgotten treasures. An old wooden chest sat in the corner; its locks rusted but its contents untouched for decades.

There are loves so powerful that even the heavens take notice. Loves that do not bow to time nor yield to death. These kinds of bonds stretch across lifetimes, woven into the very fabric of existence.

The rain fell relentlessly, washing away the remnants of a summer that had never existed. It blurred the windows like the tears neither of them had the strength to shed anymore.

His feet slowed of their own accord. The glass windows were clean and polished, and the inside was warmly lit with soft yellow bulbs and neat displays. A vase of fresh lavender sat on the windowsill, as it always had. Her touch lingered in every detail. Catherine.

The sky was not just a vast expanse of blue and white—it was a battlefield, a kingdom, and a graveyard all at once. Floating islands drifted lazily across the heavens, tethered only by the unseen forces of the wind and magic.

The midday sun cast a warm glow across the bustling Skyport town of Gear Haven, where cobblestone streets hummed with life. Massive airships with gleaming brass hulls and billowing sails hovered above, casting long shadows over the city.

Struggling author Ethan Graves had always dreamed of becoming a bestselling author. Ever since childhood, he had found solace in words, the magic of storytelling, and the worlds he could create on the page. But the reality of being a writer was far less glamorous than he had imagined.

Once, a boy named Oliver resided in a small town nestled amid a lushery of green hills. His family’s house was on the city's outskirts, where the forest started.

Embarking on a journey that began in 1969, I found myself captivated by the simple yet profound art of kite flying. This passion has not only allowed me to dance with the winds but has also connected me to a rich tapestry of history and culture that spans centuries and continents.

A sharp, throbbing pain lances through her skull as she slowly regains consciousness. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and something floral—jasmine, maybe. She blinks, disoriented, her vision swimming as she stares at an unfamiliar ceiling.