Sandra Astlova

Chronicler of Shadows & Whispers

Poprad, Slovakia

Into the Abyss

In the darkest corners of human consciousness, where devils dance and shadows whisper forgotten truths, Sandra Astlova weaves tales that pierce the veil between the living and the damned. Her words are born from the ancient darkness that dwells beneath the Tatra Mountains, where folklore bleeds into reality and nightmares take form.

Each story is a descent into the depths of despair, a meditation on the fragility of sanity, and an exploration of the devils that dance within us all. Her prose cuts through the comfortable lies we tell ourselves, revealing the raw, bleeding truth beneath.

The devils dance not in hell, but in the spaces between our thoughts, in the silence between heartbeats, in the darkness between blinks.

Works of Darkness

Whispers from Beneath

A collection of tales where the earth itself speaks of ancient horrors buried beneath Slovak soil. Each story digs deeper into the collective unconscious of a land steeped in blood and legend.

The Devil's Waltz

A haunting narrative following souls trapped in an eternal dance with their darkest impulses. Set against the backdrop of winter nights where shadows grow long and mercy grows thin.

Mourning Bells

Short stories exploring the weight of grief and the terrible beauty found in humanity's darkest moments. Each tale a funeral bell tolling for innocence lost.

Children of Sorrow

A novella examining how tragedy shapes the human spirit, set in the mountain villages where old superstitions still hold sway and the past refuses to rest.

The Writer's Philosophy

Writing is not merely the arrangement of words on a page—it is the excavation of truth from the burial ground of the human soul. Horror is not in the monster that lurks in shadows, but in the recognition of our own capacity for darkness. Sadness is not weakness, but the price we pay for having loved in a world that devours the tender-hearted.

Each story Sandra crafts is a mirror held to the reader's face, reflecting not what they wish to see, but what they fear to acknowledge. In this reflection, perhaps, lies the beginning of understanding—or the end of comfortable illusions.

We are all children of sorrow, dancing to the devil's tune, under trees that have witnessed too much and forgiven too little.

Commune with Shadows

For those brave enough to venture into the darkness, correspondence may be sent through the whispers of the mountain winds, or through more conventional means for the pragmatically inclined.

"In darkness, we find not answers, but better questions."