My best friend Zara is convinced she’s part genie. Seriously, I’m sitting here at her sixteenth birthday party watching her twirl around the courtyard tossing pink powder at the guests.
“Your wish is my command!” she exclaims each time she throws a handful, laughing as she spins, colorful puffs glittering around her.
It happened one day toward evening, in the southern deserts of Arabia, that two males of the human race approached a certain oasis where I sat keeping watch.
The sun had just kissed the desert sands in the west when the two humans led their pack mule up to the spring and knelt to drink…
I’m focused, minding my own business, quietly eating my breakfast of rice, miso soup, and grilled salmon in the dining room. It’s what I do every morning while studying my book of ancient Japanese history.
I’m so entranced that I almost miss the crackling female voice. “Why aren’t you married yet, Airi?
Very few things surprised Aoi, considering she was a witch. But she certainly hadn’t expected to be attacked by a sentient teapot when she entered her great-grandmother’s home.
Aoi huddled behind a couch as the tea caddy rolled on its own. The kettle and saucers clattered angrily on top, sloshing their boiling contents onto…
They said the Fairy Tale King had gone mad.
The courtiers, led by King Ludwig’s Uncle Luitpold, didn’t bother to contain their disgust anymore. They sneered when Ludwig passed, mocked him and his ideas. They whispered that his grandest creation, Neuschwanstein Castle, was nothing more than a showcase for his lunacy.
Miss Perdita Danville crept along the moonlit heath, trailing the large, fluffy cow that guided her, its rope clenched in her fist. A bag of dead mice dangled from her belt. With a sword buckled at her waist and her pocket mirror safe in her travelling coat pocket, she was more than suitably armed
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Gaul,47 BC
Scents of olive oil and flour tickle my nose as I set up my bread stand. Caesar’s statue rises above me, a constant reminder of who’s in charge. That I can never escape those who are always watching. I send a prayer to the gods thanking them for the coolness of the
There is beauty all around me— it is breathtaking, heart rending. I have opened my eyes to a world of color, of laughter and dancing. I have taken breath and smelled bonfires and fresh snow. Children sing and dance through the Polish village while maidens adorn the trees with hollowed eggs and ribbons.
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It was that time of year when Lancaster Manor’s garden was filled with all the colors and fragrances which have given English gardens their reputation. In the middle of the garden grew a large oak tree with branches that spread like welcoming arms. Nestled in these branches was Molly Lancaster, with her nose
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The market is an organ pulsing with life. Beating with the hearts of hundreds, thousands of people. Beating with the laughter of happiness and friendship. Palpitating with the cries of sorrow. The exertion of merchants as they compete to sell mounds of golden turmeric, blood red paprika and earthy cinnamon. Trinkets.
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Once, long ago, an African king’s caravan stopped at a village for water. As its chief bowed before him, the bored king inquired what was notable about the place.
“Sire, here dwells Olayinka, the finest potter in the land.” The king yawned.
The chief gritted his teeth. He added, “She can make a jar…
Ammon blinked, the flicking torchlight illuminating the stone walls covered in hieroglyphs. Pressure throbbed in his head, and he felt wrapped tighter than a cocoon. He groaned and pressed a hand to his head. Turning about, he surveyed every corner of the chamber filled with jars, gold, and jewels. This isn’t my room.
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