liberation

Hans Castorp was not a man prone to wild fantasies, but the Magic Mountain wasn’t a place for ordinary occurrences. Isolated in the snow-capped heights, Hans found himself lost in introspective thoughts and peculiar visions.

Esther Greenwood was drowning in her own mind, her own thoughts. The nightmares were ceaseless, the darkness all-encompassing. She felt like a bell jar was placed tightly over her existence, muffling her cries for help, and amplifying her fears and anxieties. How could she have come to this? From being a promising young writer to feeling absolutely meaningless and empty? She longed for a whiff of fresh air, a glimmer of hope, but all she was met with was the cold and hollow echoes of her own despair.

Beneath the sullen overcast of the Underland, a silver glint of hope was all that illuminated the dank darkness. Trapped under the grotesque spell of the Green Witch was Prince Rilian, bound by the entrancing powers of the Silver Chair. Rilian, lost in a trance, was oblivious to the misery of his confinement, his soul held captive by the enchantress. A far cry from his majestic life as a prince, he was nothing more than a puppet in the witch's hands.

Philip Carey, an orphan afflicted with a club foot, struggled internally with his identity. He often felt incomplete due to his physical condition, seeing it as a metaphorical invisible chain, an impediment to his freedom. In his youth, he sought solace in the company of books. His favorite, 'Lysistrata' since it resonated with his longing for affection and connections he hadn't found, yet yearned for.

Macon Dead III, known as 'Milkman' to those within his community, navigated the world shrouded in the stories and sorrows of his ancestors. His life careened between privilege and pain, identity and ancestry, his present tainted by the unresolved mysteries of his past.

In the heart of Harlem, young John Grimes wrestled with the weight of the responsibilities he never asked for. He was a mere child, and yet, the sins of his father and the expectations of the church bore down on him like a heavy yoke.

In the small, timeless town of Winesburg, Ohio, lived an old man named Elijah. He was a man largely spoken about in whispers, a character both mysterious and intriguing. People were drawn to his tales, stories of Winesburg's history that he narrated during his solitary walks around the town. Each story with a unique touch, a dash of his own perspective, adding richness to the bland canvas of everyday life.

Thomas Aschenbach, in his late fifties, felt the heaviness of age creeping into his bones. A renowned writer from Munich, he thought his pursuit of self-discipline, rationality and aesthetic beauty in literature fulfilled his existence. However, a sudden, undefined longing had taken hold of him recently. Thus, he found himself aboard a locomotive, travelling towards the south. The flamboyant city of Venice was to be his refuge, a place where he planned to seek inspiration.

Once in the dusty corners of Brattenburg kingdom, Jemmy, the whipping boy, stared out into the moonlit night. His thoughts were muddled with Prince Horace’s selfish requests, the boy for whom he received punishments. Yet, even amidst the constant turmoil, Jemmy had a dream - a dream of freedom. Not just for himself but also for the captive animals of the palace.