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Incipit: Refugees

Powerful explosions raise flames to the sky


Third person

Literary genre



5 of 5


The sun had remained outside, hidden by the monumental gate of Saint Pierre. Inside, among the cathedral's aisles, the refugees had found shade and coolness, but not peace. The sound of distant explosions was reminiscent of a thunderstorm soon to come. Mothers clutched babies to their chests and fathers looked at each other helplessly. A priest emerged at the top of the spiral staircase through which one descended to the catacombs.

“Come down, quickly,” he shouted. “The planes are coming.”


Incipit Adaptability

High adaptability to creating stories of any genre.


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