Translation status

68 Strings
0%
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1,790 Words
0%
10,089 Characters
0%

Strings status

Strings Words Characters
68 1,790 10,089
All strings Browse Translate Zen
68 1,790 10,089
Unfinished strings Browse Translate Zen
68 1,790 10,089
Untranslated strings Browse Translate Zen

Other components

Component Translated Unfinished Unfinished words Unfinished characters Untranslated Checks Suggestions Comments
Free Daily Stories
Free Short Stories 68% 22 11,802 66,098 22
Main 0% 36 74 452 36
Pro Chat Stories 0% 166 2,680 16,884 166
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Summary

Project website pressf.gg
Translation process
  • Translations can be made directly.
  • Translation suggestions can be made.
  • Any authenticated user can contribute.
  • The translation uses monolingual files.
  • The translation base language is editable.
Source code repository git@github.com:Astler/localizations.git
Repository branch night_tales
Last remote commit Upd f434faa
User avatar Astler authored 03/28/2026
Last commit in Weblate Translated using Weblate (English) a934fea
User avatar admin authored 05/22/2026
Weblate repository https://weblate.pressf.gg/git/night-tales/main/
File mask night_tales/*/pro_stories/strings.xml
Monolingual base language file night_tales/en/pro_stories/strings.xml
Translation file Download night_tales/be/pro_stories/strings.xml
Last change April 8, 2026, 4:36 p.m.
Last change made by admin
Language Belarusian
Language code be
Text direction Left to right
Case sensitivity Case-sensitive
Number of speakers 2,991,098
Number of plurals 3
Plural type One/few/many
Plurals One 1, 21, 31, 41, 51, 61, 71, 81, 91, 101, …
Few 2, 3, 4, 22, 23, 24, 32, 33, 34, 42, …
Many 0, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, …
Plural formula n%10==1 && n%100!=11 ? 0 : n%10>=2 && n%10<=4 && (n%100<10 || n%100>=20) ? 1 : 2
05/07/2026

String statistics

Strings percent Hosted strings Words percent Hosted words Characters percent Hosted characters
Total 68 1,790 10,089
Translated 0% 0 0% 0 0% 0
Needs editing 0% 0 0% 0 0% 0
Read-only 0% 0 0% 0 0% 0
Failing checks 0% 0 0% 0 0% 0
Strings with suggestions 0% 0 0% 0 0% 0
Untranslated strings 100% 68 100% 1,790 100% 10,089
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68
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User avatar admin

Extra flags updated
ignore-ellipsis
04/08/2026
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Extra flags updated
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04/08/2026
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String added
The sun went down, casting its final crimson glow over the clouds above the town of Amble.

A thick fog gathered over the river and began to spill through the old, crooked streets. Most of them were still paved with cobblestones, while only a few had managed to acquire a new coat of asphalt.

Apartment windows glowed in every shade of yellow, and the fog scattered their light, lending everything an air of mystery and magic.

The streets emptied quickly; only occasionally could one spot a stray passerby hurrying home. But there was no one to watch them.

Not everyone, however, had retreated into their fragile brick boxes—structures that offered only an illusion of safety, for more often than not, it was the people themselves who were the source of all kinds of danger.

To the couple on the street, though, none of that mattered right now. They carried a bottle of wine—opened but still nearly full—discreetly hidden in a brown paper bag, fueled by that inextinguishable natural thirst that drives people toward one another and out onto the night streets with a bottle in hand.

Emerging from the hazy light of a house at the edge of the street, the two climbed onto a small, humped bridge. It was adorned with ornate metal railings, green with age. Forged by unknown masters, the railings were a true work of art, but as the couple reached the middle of the bridge, they leaned against them as if they were nothing special, staring down at the dark water flowing slowly into the unknown.

The guy took a swig from the bottle and handed it to the girl. She took only a small sip and returned it.

"Mermaid Bridge," the girl said. "Do you know why they call it that?"

The wind cleared the fog over the river as if wanting a better look at the two people on the bridge, and the town grew silent, so the sound of their voices carried far and wide.

But there was no one to watch the people or listen to their conversation.

"They say some girl jumped from the bridge and turned into a mermaid," the guy replied.
"And why did she jump?" the girl asked.

The guy shrugged.

"Because her groom didn't show up for the wedding," the girl answered. "And just as she was, in her bridal gown, she climbed onto the railing and stepped down..."

They gazed into the dark water again, as if trying to spot a girl in a wedding dress in the depths.

"But she didn't drown, even though she couldn't swim," the girl continued. "She turned into a mermaid. That’s why mermaids have fins that look like delicate lace embroidery. It’s actually the pattern from her wedding dress."
"Is that true?" the guy asked.

The girl nodded.

"In any courtyard of the nearby houses, they’ll tell you the wedding was held right in their building."

She laughed.

"No," the guy shook his head. "I've heard that story a thousand times. I’m asking about the mermaid fins. Who has ever seen this mermaid to tell everyone about the fins?"
"Probably those who stood on this bridge and looked down," the girl said, staring once more into the dark, indifferent water.

Taking another sip from the bottle, the guy also began to study the water intently.

But the black canvas of the river was unwilling to reveal its secrets.

The guy turned his back to the railing and looked at the girl, who still hadn't taken her eyes off the flowing water.

"They say that ever since then, all the brides abandoned at their weddings come here to end their lives," he said. "I wonder, do they turn into mermaids too?"
"Then the river would be crawling with them," the girl remarked.
"You think?" the guy asked. "Do grooms really abandon their brides at weddings that often?"

The girl didn't answer.

The guy moved closer to her.

"Shall we keep going?" he asked.
"There! Look!" the girl suddenly cried out, pointing at something.

The guy spun around and peered down, leaning dangerously far forward.

And if anyone had been watching these two right then, they would have been stunned by what happened next.

The girl suddenly grabbed the guy by the legs and jerked them upward. Flailing his arms, the guy flipped over the railing and, with a splash, fell into the water.

Then something even stranger occurred. Without a second's hesitation, the girl climbed onto the railing and jumped in after him—silently, like a professional swimmer—vanishing into the dark water.

If an outside observer were still there and could have somehow reached the bridge in the blink of an eye, standing exactly where the two people had just been, they might have been lucky enough to catch a glint of a large fish tail in the depths. And if they were a long-time resident of the town, they would certainly know that no such massive fish lived in this river...

But there was no one on the streets of the old town of Amble, and there was no one to witness the strange occurrence on the small, humped bridge that the townspeople called the Mermaid Bridge.
 
story.sps_002.text
04/08/2026
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String added
Anton was twelve, and out of sheer boredom and the neglect of his constantly working parents, he had grown into a cruel kid. The younger students scattered whenever he appeared, but his main target was one silent girl.

She had absolutely black, bottomless eyes, which earned her the nickname ""the Gypsy"" among their classmates. She never fought back and had no friends. She was walked to and from school by a creepy, hunched-over old woman who smelled of dry earth and wormwood.

Anton's bullying was calculated and methodical. It peaked when he tripped her on the school steps—the girl fell face-first, busting her nose open and bleeding all over the concrete, right in front of her grandmother.
Anton braced himself for yelling, but the old woman didn't make a sound. She slowly wiped the blood from her granddaughter's face, raised those same black, empty eyes at Anton, and whispered a single sentence:
""I know who will come for your meat.""

That very night, Anton woke up inside a nightmare for the first time.
He was lying on an ice-cold stone floor. His hands and feet were bound tightly with barbed wire. The thick stench of copper and singed hair burned his nostrils. In the gloom, he could make out a butcher's block stained with black blood, and the gaping, roaring maw of a fiery furnace. And then, from the darkness, came a heavy, wet breathing and a raspy voice that chanted:

Men and beasts are all the same,
Screaming meat without a name.

Anton woke up in a cold sweat. He couldn't find peace all day, and the next night, the nightmare resumed from the exact same moment.

This time, he saw him. The butcher stepped out of the shadows toward the block. Massive and shapeless, his knotted arms were covered in festering wounds, crudely stitched shut with thick thread. He wore a filthy burlap sack over his head, but through the eyeholes, Anton saw them.
Absolutely black. The eyes of the Gypsy girl and her hunched grandmother.
The butcher slammed a massive cleaver down onto the block and continued counting, pointing a stubby finger at the bound children on the floor:

Rusty hooks and blinding dark,
Fire swallows every spark.

In the morning, Anton leaped out of bed, screaming. He was shaking. He realized what he had to do: apologize. He needed to crawl on his knees before that girl and the old woman, anything to make them stop.

He ran to school an hour early, but the Gypsy girl never showed up.
During recess, he rushed to his homeroom teacher, begging for the girl's address.

The teacher looked at him in genuine bewilderment.
""What gypsy, Anton? We don't have a girl like that in our class.""
He ran to the principal, to his classmates. Nobody. Not a single person in the school remembered the dark-haired girl or the hunched old woman. Even his own parents brushed him off, telling him he was overworked and making up imaginary people.

She had been erased from reality. And the curse now existed solely between Anton and the butcher in his head.

Anton didn't sleep for two days. He chugged energy drinks, pinched himself until he bruised, sat on the floor with all the lights on—but the moment he blinked, he could hear the heavy breathing and shuffling footsteps right inside his bedroom.
On the third day, early in the morning, his parents left for work. Anton was sitting on the edge of his bed. His mind was blurring from extreme exhaustion. He tried to pull on his jeans, leaned over, blinked...

The light in the room faded.
Instead of the carpet, there was ice-cold stone under his feet. The air scorched his lungs with heat from the roaring furnace. The barbed wire bit brutally into his wrists.
The butcher was standing right over him, raising the heavy, rusted cleaver. From beneath the burlap sack came the final lines:

Sharpened knife and splintered bone,
In the dark, you die alone.

His parents found Anton that evening. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, frozen, with one pant leg pulled up. His eyes were wide open, his pupils rolled to the back of his head. The doctors diagnosed sudden cardiac arrest, completely unable to explain why the boy's body smelled faintly of ash and roasted meat.
 
story.sps_001.text
04/08/2026
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Extra flags updated
ignore-ellipsis
04/08/2026
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Red lights
 
story.sps_066.title
04/08/2026
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A girl from my class
 
story.sps_065.title
04/08/2026
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The Tooth Fairy
 
story.sps_064.title
04/08/2026
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Who is she?
 
story.sps_063.title
04/08/2026
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Inside me
 
story.sps_062.title
04/08/2026
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