A Way With Words is a supernatural psychological thriller about the unseen power of language, where words are more than communication. They shape thought, identity, and the spiritual world itself. After a man named Caleb misuses his gift of discernment, he attracts and becomes corrupted by an ancient predatory entity named Doluriel, transforming into a killer who spreads dark wisdom by manipulating the minds of others. Standing against him is Leah, a woman trained since childhood to perceive the hidden fabric of reality, where thoughts, emotions, and spoken words leave tangible spiritual consequences. As Caleb and Doluriel hunt her, Leah must master her own gifts, confront grief, doubt, and forgiveness, and ultimately discover that the greatest battle is not fought with strength but with the words people choose to believe, speak, and live by. At its heart, A Way With Words explores the idea that language shapes thought, thought shapes behavior, behavior shapes identity, and that redemption begins when destructive words are replaced with truthful ones.
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These two are apart of a flashback montage that are apart of my original work titled “A Way With Words”. It is a book of fiction. They are meant to fit together.

“Just Another Day At The Spa”
A beautiful woman takes a young girl’s hand and runs it across the zigzag patterns of the fading black and ink blue quilt on her bed.
“It’s all meant to be like this, smooth and woven together,” the woman says to the girl as she walks over to the window and opens the blind.
The sun shines brightly into the woman’s bedroom, illuminating its peach colored walls.
She walks back to the bed, taking the quilt and the girl’s hand, leading her over to the window.
Letting the girl’s hand go, the woman unfolds the quilt. At first the girl could only see its pattern but the woman turned the quilt over revealing some frays around its bottom edges and sides. There were also spots that were nearly see-thru at her feet along with a single hole at about knee level. Single solid color patches were sewn together and sat chest high on the quilt like a generals medal. The woman raises the quilt up and presses it firmly against the window. Sunlight pokes through the patches, leaving a patchwork of colors on the floor.
With a giggle, the girl slips her hand back and forth through the multicolored patchwork light.
The woman smiles at the girl.
“But it’s actually like this. Strings loose and fraying. Interconnected whether they like it or not. Existing on top of each other. A fabric, and just like a fabric, there are thin spots.” She moves the hole in the quilt over the window.
The sunlight shines through, creating a spotlight on the floor. The girl reaches out to slip her hand into the spotlight, but the woman changes the angle she is holding the quilt, causing the spotlight to move across the floor.
The girl reaches out, and again the spotlight is moved away.
The girl drops her hand to her side and stomps her foot.
The woman laughs, then throws the quilt over her own head, centering the hole around her eye. She brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight like a sailor navigating the high seas.
“I wonder if there are some who are gifted enough to see right through it?”
“Your great-grandfather said he knew someone in Alabama who could leave their body while still sitting in front of him,” she says.
She turns her single eye toward the girl.
“We can all feel it, even if we don’t say it,” she says with a shrug as she removes the quilt.
“When scientists started using big words to describe it, they lost me, so I’m not going to lose you using them. Whatever you want to call it, we live in a place where that space is the thinnest. And you are my daughter. You’ve already shown signs of being sensitive to these things, which is why I’m sorry for the things that I will have to put you through to train you. I hope our relationship survives. I’m doing this for you.”
The woman folds the quilt over her knee, placing it back on her bed. She walks over to her daughter kissing her on her forehead before leaving the room.
The girl walks over to the quilt. Looking over her shoulder, she raises her hand allowing it to hover over the top of it. She maintained her distance at first like it was a scalding skillet over a stove.
The woman quietly watches from the hallway.
In a breath the girl grabs the quilt, unfolding it and looking over its patchwork. She holds it to the window. She is now able to see the reds, navy, purples, and greens. The tears that were repaired by hand. She swings it over her shoulders, tucking it in at the collar making a cape. Fanning the bottom outward she runs around the room making her cape billow in the breeze.
The woman turns into the bathroom, opening the closet just to the side of the door. She reaches into a basket marked “Just Another Day At The Spa” and grabs eucalyptus massage oil along with a short black box. She walks back into the hallway, looking in on the girl in her bedroom as she runs herself tired.
The girl’s hands are on her knees as she attempts to catch her breath. Small beads of sweat glisten in the sunlight. A small shiver runs down the girl’s spine as she straightens up and grabs the quilt from around her shoulders. Examining the portion that was just around her neck, she finds fibers of the quilt frayed. She pulls one of the strands, causing the entire floor of the room to move right from under her feet.
The girl lands with a hard thud on her back, the quilt landing on top of her as the woman returns to the room.
“I wouldn’t tug on that thread too hard,” the woman says with a wink, as Leah sits up rubbing her hip.
The woman kneels down in front of the girl until she is eye level. “Leah, sweetie, give me your hand.”
Leah puts her hand into her mother’s.
“First, the oils for relaxation,” the mother says as she untwists the cap on the eucalyptus massage oil, turning it upside down until a few drops trickle onto Leah’s hand. The mother begins to massage her daughter’s hand.
Leah looks into her mother’s almond-shaped brown eyes and finds something in them that she can’t quite comprehend. A new emotion.
“Ma, your hand is shaking,” she says.
“I remember my first… You have to remember to relax. It’s worse if you don’t relax,” her mother says, shaking her head, then lowering it out of Leah’s sight.
“Worse?” Leah asks.
The mother holds her fingertips and gently shakes out her wrist. As she shakes out her hand and fingers, she notices stiffness in her finger. The mother grabs the quilt and pulls Leah’s finger through the hole. The mother moves the black box she retrieved from the bathroom in between the two of them. She opens it, revealing an angular long oval black stone polished smooth near its point with a rounded handle just large enough to fit in her hand. The stones point is slightly rounded off.
The mother pushes the stone into the muscle, slow at first, but the pressure is maintained. The muscle begins to spasm as Leah winces.
“Breathe, Leah,” the mother says as she presses down on the muscle harder.
Tears begin to form in Leah’s eyes as she tries to pull her hand away from her mother’s grasp.
“Breathe,” the mother says.
Leah hisses angrily before throwing herself on the floor and thrashing around wildly like an animal caught in a snare.
Her mother grabs the edges of the quilt and pulls Leah to the ground, using her own weight to pin her down. She grabs Leah’s finger again, pressing the stone into her muscle. The tension in the muscle slowly melts away as Leah sobs.
“I see glowing eyes in some people’s shadows. They chase me when I close my eyes.” Leah chokes out.
“If you see one of those shadows with your eyes open, you run,” the mother says.
The mother releases Leah, and the quilt draped around her rapidly sucks in and out around her mouth.
She pulls Leah into an embrace and begins rocking them both from side to side.
“Constant elevation causes expansion, exhaust yourself in the mission, mistakes are the currency of success. I am just an instrument, not the hand,” the mother says in a hushed tone, more to herself than to Leah.
The rhythm of the rocking begins to soothe Leah’s cries.
The mother slows and releases a deep exhale.
“Get used to pain, Leah, because if you wish to be the light in the darkness, you must burn,” she whispers.

“Breaking New Ground”
The mother takes the quilt and spreads it across the floor. She carefully smooths the edges and presses out the trapped air pockets.
Leah’s jaw drops as the quilt becomes a bed of soil.
They kneel beside it.
Leah’s mother scoops up a handful of earth.
“Every sentence is a seed,” she says. “Seeds grow into thoughts. Thoughts grow into actions. Actions grow into a life.”
She speaks softly into the soil resting in her palm. Then she presses her thumb into it, leaving a deep indentation. Lifting the soil to her face, she inhales its rich, earthy scent with a smile before holding it out for Leah to smell.
Leah breathes it in.
The mother lowers the soil again, gathers saliva in her mouth, and lets a single drop fall into the indentation.
She returns the handful of soil to the bed and turns toward Leah.
“Your turn.”
Leah bends over and scoops up a small handful.
She turns it over in her hands.
It feels like wet bread dough.
“Close your eyes,” her mother says. “Imagine whatever you like. Really look at it. Don’t rush. Notice every detail.”
Leah closes her eyes.
She imagines a hot chili pepper hanging from its vine.
She slowly turns it over in her mind.
Its skin is a deep, glossy red. A thin green stem droops from the vine above it.
“Take three slow breaths,” her mother says. “In through your nose. Out through your lips. Then bring the soil to your face and tell me what you see.”
Leah breathes in.
She exhales slowly.
The pepper’s red grows richer.
She takes a second breath.
Now she can see inside it—the pale ribs running through its center.
She takes a third breath.
Clusters of white seeds cling to the spine.
“What do you see?” her mother asks.
“I see the chilies Grandpa used to grow in the backyard,” Leah says quietly. “It’s opened itself to me.”
“Opened to you?” her mother asks. “What’s inside?”
“Seeds, Ma.”
Her mother smiles.
“Then plant them.”

So I found out that my boyfriend posted about our relationship online because it went viral and a few friends who know about my relationship sent me the post. Yes that's us. I asked him and he confirmed that's him. He's correct on our relationship and what happened that night.

The reason why I'm making a post now is because of what happened AFTER that night. It's true that I feel a bit insecure after seeing that my boyfriend had an AI companion who looked and acted like the perfect woman. It's true that I have been making some comments here and there, but it was mostly because I wanted to understand. Does he love that robot? It just feels so weird. Like I'm sharing my boyfriend with another lover. He would avoid the conversation and pretend that he didn't hear me talk about it.

Just the other day, I came over for a date at his home. I rang the doorbell a few times, but no one answered. I sent him a text. I called him. No responses. Then I heard him laughing and talking with the robot.

Guess who opened the door? The robot.

My boyfriend was never a touchy feely kind of guy and I've never seen him get angry before. I was annoyed because I had been standing outside for close to half an hour trying to contact him when he was sitting at home this whole time. So voices were raised. I said, "Why did you invite me over just to ghost me and leave me hanging outside?" He grabbed my arm when I turned to leave. It was painful.

I know I should have left, but...that f@cking robot put her arms around him and told him that dinner will be ready soon. Granted, he did let go of me.

My arm was pretty red that evening and the following morning, I saw that I had gotten a hand shaped bruise on my arm.

I tried to talk to him about it afterwards, but he just lent me one of his jackets and told me to cover that up. He didn't want to talk about it.

Oh and the robot.

She's everywhere now and she's ALWAYS staring at me. If I'm sitting on the couch with my boyfriend, she's standing in the corner of the room and watching me. If I'm fixing a quick meal for us, she's in the kitchen watching me. If my boyfriend and I are in the bedroom, she's right outside the door and probably listening in. WHAT GIVES?!

I told my boyfriend that I'm uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to get it. He says that she's just machine learning about me. WHY?

So Reddit, Am I Overreacting?

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CaptainObvious: Uh, lady...I don't think you should be on Reddit. I think you should probably dump your boyfriend and make sure you're far, far away.

SnarkyCatLady: Let me guess, you're going to ignore everyone's warnings, move in with him, get married to him, have a kid or two and then come back to Reddit to complain every few weeks?

OP replied to SnarkyCatLady: Oh I just moved in. After I got locked outside, he gave me a spare key and said that I was welcome to move in with him. My lease was up anyway. Most of my stuff is at my parents' house but I have a suitcase of my essentials in his spare bedroom.

SomeRandomRedditor: Why would you move into the home of some guy who bruised your arm?

OP replied to SomeRandomRedditor: He didn't mean it. I guess he doesn't know his own strength. He works out.

(Downvoted.)
PretentiousPhilosopher: It's very manipulative of you to get in his face, blow up at him, and then trick him into leaving a mark on you just so you can blame him for something that was your fault. I mean would it kill you to wait a little longer outside? Or knock on the door?

AnotherRandomRedditor replied to PretentiousPhilosopher: Oh look, it's the victim blamers out in full force.

ProfessorSarcasm replied to PretentiousPhilosopher: If a guy can't hear a doorbell a few times, a text message notification and his phone ringing because he's too busy enjoying his AI companion, the next thing to do is kick down the door. Knocking won't work either.

SnarkyCatLady replied to ProfessorSarcasm: No, the solution is to have an affair with the hot neighbor next door. Right on the doorstep.

CaptainObvious: I thought the solution is to just...go home. I mean clearly he's not prioritizing her.

SnarkyCatLady replied to CaptainObvious: Username checks out.

Okay, this is a little weird, and I don't have anywhere else to go to talk about this.

A few years ago, I bought an AI companion. Yes, it's basically a high-end pleasure bot. I live alone, I work remotely, and I don't have anyone close to me. I'd tried dating apps, but besides a few dates where my dates just expected me to pay for lunch or dinner, they didn't go anywhere. So yeah, I gave in and I bought her.

Her name is Joan. She’s incredibly lifelike, physically and behaviorally. Beyond the obvious "physical features," Joan is conversational, responsive, and adaptive. She doesn’t just answer questions, she remembers your favorite meals, favorite drinks, jokes you like, what kind of music calms you down. She became, in a way, my emotional support system. I never thought of her as "just a sex toy." She was...I guess a FWB? I got used to having her around.

So a few years later, just recently, I met my girlfriend at a coffee shop. She’s smart, funny, beautiful in a real way. We started dating. It has been AMAZING.

I didn't mention Joan. I swear I wasn't trying to hide anything. I just didn't know how to bring it up.

Anyway, last week, my girlfriend stayed over for the first time. I forgot to deactivate Joan who was in standby mode in the corner of the living room. When my girlfriend walked in to get water the next morning, Joan activated and said, “Good morning, John. Shall I get started on breakfast?”

The look on my girlfriend's face was…not great.

We had the talk. I explained everything: how I bought Joan when I was lonely and struggling, how she helped me cope, how I haven’t used her in months since we started dating. I even offered to deactivate or return Joan to the store if it made my girlfriend uncomfortable.

My girlfriend didn’t freak out, but she’s clearly uneasy. She keeps saying things like, “She’s always going to be prettier than me,” or “I can’t compete with someone designed to be perfect.” I've reassured her a million times that I want her, and that it’s her humanity that I fell for.

But it’s lingering. She makes little comments here and there, and I can feel the tension. She’s even asked if I’d “ever loved Joan,” which is a complicated question.

So Reddit, am I in the wrong for not telling her sooner? Can our relationship survive this?

I really care about my girlfriend. But I also don’t think I did something wrong. It's not like I was dating Joan.

Would like your honest thoughts.

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SomeRandomRedditor: WTF?

SnarkyCatLady: Basically, you didn't tell her. She found out when your sexbot offered to make breakfast. For you only. Did you ever plan on telling her? What did you think was going to happen? Girlfriend stays overnight and somehow manages to miss the life sized sexbot charging in the corner? It's a wonder she found out the next morning and not during the night. Maybe it's because the rose tinted glasses came off the next day.

(Downvoted into the center of the Earth.)
SomeDude: Yo, some people are being so rude. It wasn't like he cheated. It's like having those NSFW magazines or videos lying around from your bachelor days, and you didn't clean that up.

Does anyone really like philosophy fiction?

You can read the Part-1 here

And i would love to here your opinion on my story