More Words For Sad
"Because"
When I fall into the writer’s lair - I make AI sweat. It bends to my commands in ways that sharpen my pencil and stretches my mind. As it tells me:
Here’s your list, amplified with visceral, high-stakes novel excerpts for each entry:
Dejected: Feeling downcast or depressed
The knight slumped against the bloodied battlement, his armor cracked like his spirit, staring at the ash-choked horizon where the last of his legion had fallen to the dragon’s wrath—tomorrow, the horde would breach the walls, and he’d no longer care.
She clutched the crumpled letter, its ink smeared by rain, as the screams of the besieged city echoed; her dejection was a leaden weight, knowing her silence had doomed them all.
Downhearted: Feeling downcast or depressed
The rebel captain’s sword trembled in her grip, her once-fierce resolve drowned by the cries of her captured comrades; if her heart failed now, the tyrant’s flames would devour every last hope.
He traced the names etched on the war memorial, each a ghost haunting him—downhearted, he wondered if surrendering to the invading horde would spare the survivors, or merely hasten hell.
Downcast: Feeling downcast or depressed
The spy’s shoulders sagged as the prison gates clanged shut, her mission failed, her downcast eyes avoiding the traitor’s smirk—the plague would spread unchecked, and the capital’s screams would follow her into oblivion.
The orphaned prince stared at the shattered crown, its jewels glinting like dead stars; downcast, he vowed to let the usurper’s armies raze the kingdom rather than kneel.
Gloomy: Feeling sad or depressed
The cryptkeeper’’s lantern guttered as shadows coiled like serpents around the tombs, his gloomy thoughts whispering that the lich-king’s resurrection was inevitable—and he’d be the one to dig the grave.
She wandered the abandoned observatory, its telescopes cracked, maps torn—a gloomy certainty settled: her miscalculations had doomed the starship to drift, lifeless, through the void.
Discouraged: Feeling sad or depressed
The alchemist hurled his failed elixir against the wall, its golden shimmer fading like his dreams; discouraged, he didn’t notice the black veins creeping up his arm—the blight had already won.
The general’s war table lay in ruins, his discouraged mind replaying the ambush; beyond the tent, the enemy’s war drums throbbed, and he knew dawn would bring slaughter or surrender.
Disconsolate: Feeling sad or depressed
The bard’s lute strings snapped, his disconsolate wail echoing through the haunted forest—a dirge for the lover he’d buried too deep, and the vengeful spirit now clawing its way free.
The widowed queen stood at the cliff’s edge, disconsolate, the storm below mirroring her rage; one step forward, and the sea would claim her—or the assassins at her back.
Despondent: Feeling sad or depressed
The inventor stared at the smoldering ruins of her life’s work, despondent, as the warlord’s airships blotted out the sun; she’d burn the blueprints herself before letting them seize it.
He crumpled the last ration ticket, despondent laughter tearing at his throat—the city would starve within days, and he’d be the mayor who signed their death warrants.
Unhappy: Feeling sad or depressed
The diplomat’s smile frayed as the treaty burned in the brazier, her unhappy heart numbed by the envoy’s corpse at her feet; war would bloom at midnight, and she’d orchestrated it.
The thief pocketed the cursed gem, its chill seeping into her bones—unhappy, she realized too late it was a phylactery, and its lich now stirred in the depths below.
Sorrow: Feeling sad or depressed
Sorrow hollowed the warrior’s chest as he lit his brother’s pyre, the smoke staining the sky—the same charcoal gray as the enemy banners unfurling beyond the pass.
The sorceress’s sorrow seeped into the earth, birthing twisted vines that strangled the village; she’d weep for them, if her tears weren’t poison.
Grief: Feeling sad or depressed
Grief was a blade in the assassin’s gut as she cradled her mark—her sister, eyes wide and unseeing—while the client’s laughter echoed: “Now you’ll truly understand loss.”
The astronomer’s grief cracked the celestial orrery, its gears grinding to a halt; without its song, the stars themselves began to die.
Mournfulness: Feeling sad or depressed
Mournfulness clung to the orphanage’s halls, thick as dust, as the headmaster locked the doors—tonight, the plague carts would come, and he’d greet them with wine and a pistol.
The knight-errant’s mournful hymn carried over the battlefield, drawing scavengers and shades alike; his dead king’s crown weighed heavy, and he prayed the wolves would take him too.
Anguish: Feeling sad or depressed
Anguish tore through the mage as his spell misfired, incinerating the village he’d sworn to protect—the ruins shimmered, a dark mirror to the demon’s grin in the smoke.
She screamed her anguish into the storm, fists bloody from pounding the sealed vault door; inside, her child’s voice grew fainter, drowned by the rising flood.
Heartbroken: Feeling sad or depressed
Heartbroken, the pirate captain scuttled her own ship, its sails aflame, marooning them both on the reef—better to drown than let him take the compass that controlled the tides.
The artificer’s heartbroken sob echoed through the workshop as his mechanical daughter stuttered, “Papa, fix me,” before her core went dark—and the city’s defenses with her.
Mournful: Feeling sad or depressed
The mournful dirge of the royal bells shook the city, each toll a lie—the prince lived, hidden, while his double’s corpse bought time before the coup.
Her mournful gaze lingered on the wedding portrait, dagger in hand; by sunrise, she’d trade her husband’s treasonous heart to the witch for a chance to unlive it all.
Pessimistic: Feeling sad or depressed
“We’ll all be bones by winter,” the scout muttered, pessimistic, eyeing the fortress’s cracked walls—a prophecy fulfilled when the first siege engine crested the hill.
The scientist’s pessimistic chuckle grated as the containment field flickered; the alien hive’s screeching swelled, and he wondered which would kill them first—the creatures or the vacuum.
Somber: Feeling sad or depressed
The council’s somber silence fractured as the envoy’s head rolled across the table, the assassin’s blade pointed at the queen: “Your reign ends tonight. The abyss thanks you.”
Somber shadows draped the funeral ship as it drifted into the maelstrom, its cargo a king’s corpse and a live bomb—his final gift to the empire that exiled him.
Sorrowful: Feeling sad or depressed
The sorrowful tide washed over the shrine, its gods long deaf, as the priestess prepared the sacrificial knife—her own wrist, or the stranger’s? The drought would break either way.
He pressed the sorrowful lullaby into the orphan’s palm, a melody that killed kings; when she hummed it, the palace would burn, and he’d be free of his oath.
Sorry: Feeling sorrow, sad or depressed
“I’m sorry,” the traitor whispered, shoving the chancellor into the vault—the last words before the explosion erased a city’s history, and his own guilt.
She said she was sorry as she sealed the bunker, leaving him outside with the mob and their torches; his invention could’ve saved them, but fear made martyrs of them all.
Other words:
Lamentable: The duel was a lamentable farce—blades clashed, and the prince fell, not from steel, but the poison his own betrothed had slipped into his wine.
Their lamentable retreat left the sacred grove undefended; by dawn, the invaders’ axes would turn elder trees into kindling for their witch-pyres.
Anguish: Anguish pulsed in the warlord’s chest, his son’s dagger lodged there; the boy’s eyes mirrored his own, cold and conqueror-keen, as the empire fractured.
Heartache: The heartache of her betrayal festered, a wound that drew the attention of the dream-eaters; each night, they devoured more of his memories, leaving only vengeance.
Hopelessness: Hopelessness choked the resistance as the AI’s drones blackened the sky—their final broadcast, a static-scarred anthem, played to empty streets.
Misery: Misery carved trenches in the soldier’s face as he trudged past crucified villagers, their bodies spelling the enemy general’s name—a message meant for him.
Mourning: The mourning bells never ceased, their sound a weapon; the deeper the city’s grief, the stronger the necromancer’s army grew.
Poignancy: The poignant beauty of the dying starship’s last transmission—a child’s laugh—haunted the Earth long after the alien armada erased them all.
Verbs:
Agonize: She agonized over the kill-switch, finger hovering—detonate the reactor now, murdering thousands, or let the AI ascend to godhood?
Bemoan: The villagers bemoaned the cursed harvest, unaware their lamentations fed the ancient thing beneath the soil; its hunger would soon break free.
Bewail: The king bewailed his dead heir, blind to the assassin’s grin—his grief made the perfect veil for regicide.
Deplore: They deplored the general’s brutality, yet followed his orders into the canyon; the ambush left no survivors, just carrion for the war-beasts.
Grieve: The widower grieved silently, his tears watering the sapling on her grave—a tree that grew twisted, its fruit whispering her secrets.
Groan: The bridge groaned under the refugees’ weight, a metaphor the poet hated; when it snapped, so did his faith in metaphors.
Lament: The nuns lamented their stolen relic, not knowing the thief was their own abbess, her pockets heavy with the demon’s gold.
Moan: The wind moaned through the battlefield’s bones, a sound that drove men mad—or woke something older, hungrier, beneath them.
Mourn: They mourned the fallen starship with vodka and ballads, ignoring the distress signal looping in its ruins—something had hitched a ride home.
Regret: He regretted the oath sworn to a dying man—now he’d burn the world to save it, starting with the orphanage on the hill.