He slumbered. For millennia, no doubt. But when he woke it was always to the same rumbling, the deafening crackle of magic like thunder, the stretching of his body to infinite proportion as it squeezed him through a space too small for him to fit, before making him whole again. The space around him came to focus slowly, dimly lit shadows dancing in flickering torchlight, fading fast, a single breath from extinction.
And like a passing sandstorm, they faded, clearing his vision, leaving behind only the shape of men and women, deathly still, crushed beneath the rubble. They’d come for his treasure. For gifts and talents unattainable. At a cost none could fathom. And like most, they earned nothing but a spot among his collection of bones.
The vacuum of silence exploded, as his sense fully returned, only to realize that the stillness of the room did not match the wet gurgling sound echoing against the cavern walls. He frowned, crossing his gargantuan arms over his chest, looking for the source of such desperate gnawing and froze when he saw it.
At the foot of his looming shadow, a small, suckling child sat, it’s tiny mouth pressed against the handle of his golden lamp. Continue reading
The chime above the door rang and I shoved the book I was reading into my bookbag.
An inordinately handsome young man had walked in and was now leaning on my counter. He nodded to the backpack as I straightened up. “Whatcha reading?”
“Um… just something a friend leant me.” I didn’t want to admit what it was—one of the million YA paranormal books bracing the shelves these days, one of the very books that was driving up our clientele—it’s hard to find true love when everyone is obsessed with vampires and werewolves.
I cleared my throat. “Welcome to Other Dating. My name is Charity, how can I help you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Charity? And are you an angel, Charity?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I’d been hit on by an inordinate amount of Others in my time. It had long lost its ability to make me blush.
Ribina was bored.
In fact, bored was almost her favorite pastime. As the second daughter of the seventh family of Illindor bored was her general right. If she had been a first daughter, or from one of the top five families she might have had civic duties to occupy her time. If she had been from any of the lower families she may have had to work for her keep—perish the thought.
As it was her life was one of wealth and opulence, and of waiting until one of the appropriate sons caught her interest enough to tempt her hand. Marriage could be fun, according to her cousin, Shadria. “Just find someone who is active enough for the bedroom and loyal enough to stay out of anyone else’s. So much the better if he has a head for conversation but as he’s like to be away on politics most of the year, he may as well not.” Continue reading
Image by Dot Myl – Google Plus
Hello dear friends and imaginative travelers!
We regret to have left you at the Tree alone for such an extended period of time. We thought of you often, and despite our best efforts to return, the Door to the Tree eluded us, busy as we were fighting monsters in our path.
But if you’re here, if you’re listening… we’re knocking.
Where will 2018 lead us?
Come along. Let’s find out.
Inspired by characters from the Guardian series by Isabelle Santiago. She didn’t ask me to write this, but I felt like it was appropriate to end her debut week!
She can’t remember a time when he didn’t fascinate her.
And he was as fickle and biting as his element. Warm and sweet at times—especially when she had something he wanted—but cruel and careless at others.
She can’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with someone else, either.
She can remember a time when it didn’t matter, though. When they all belonged to each other—a tiny family, all growing side by side. He loved her sister, but it didn’t matter, because she would always have both of them.
Until she couldn’t.
Sculpture by AnnG at DeviantArt
He lived alone at the far end of the Great Forest, among the Whispering Trees. His cabin was a humble man’s: small, quaint, simple. Not much more than the basic necessities of life, a place to sit, a place to eat, a place to rest- and the delicate touch of a woman sprinkled randomly throughout. The yellowing lace curtains. The portrait of flowers spilling from a watering can above the mantel. Fine china collecting dust on the very top shelf of the cupboards. Continue reading
I sweep the frost from the path, whisking it away, just as my lady always asked of me when winter came. Some small part of me asks why I bother, when it will only build up again, with no feet to wander it but my own, and that of my broom.
It’s a curse that brought this everlasting winter on the castle of my birth. A curse, and love. Though what the difference is these days, I’m only half sure I remember.
With the grounds cleared, I gather my courage, to walk among statues.