The prisoner still refuses to talk.
Hands clasped behind my back, I pace my cabin. Shutters dim the starlight lanterns on my desk, but the wide, paned window reveals the sparkling view of a myriad of stars to our stern. I can’t bring myself to pull the blinds, lest I miss some glimpse of pursuit.
The Sleeping Dragon Teashop was known in Quira for its spiced apple blend. Nobles often used Ximena’s teas to help them sleep—and sometimes, they requested her to ensure their political opponents slept… longer.
One such note slipped through the letter slot just before her shop opened its doors for the day.
I savor the moment as our cannons fire on the bustling trade ring. The void of space swallows any sound as red flashes shoot from our guns and streak for the alliance’s heart. The time for my vengeance has come at last.
The blast turns the huge ring-shaped trade station into space dust
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need, princess?” The maid hovered over Katriel.
Katriel snuggled deeper under her quilts, leaving only her head visible. “No, I’m fine.” Now shoo.
“As you say, princess.”
When the overbearing maid finally closed the door behind her, Katriel tossed off the blankets and snatched a pair
All pirates are dirty liars and murderers, but none worse than Captain Dolion of the Nebula. His aim is as sharp as his tongue, and his neck scarf as red as the blood of his victims.
Stardust parts around the bow of the Nebula and swirls in our wake as we forge toward
To: georgethegremlinhaha@crashandburn.com
From: sirfrederickgrim@upgradeorbust.org
Subject: Re: Hello…
Dear Cousin George,
It’s good to finally hear from you! Are you still living in that cheap hunk of metal you call a computer? The one you’re always complaining about at gremlin get-togethers?
Dreaming is one of the few comforts I have left.
I dream of the sunset sky glowing in shameless display, of a radiant amber symphony rising from the depths before the sun gives way to the moon. I dream, because the moment the true sun touches my skin, primal instincts to survive
“Did you just ask me to cut off your head?” Arden stared through the iron bars at the tiger.
“I did.” The cat calmly laid her head on her paws.
“You must be mad!”
“Perhaps.” Her lips curled back in a grin like some overgrown Cheshire Cat.
He shivered. He hoped the dormice
The ornate front door of The Inventor’s house had a glass knob and engravings of vines crawling over the edges. I didn’t knock—there was no need. The Inventor wouldn’t answer, anyways. Mother had tried to convince him he needed an assistant to run the house, but The Inventor wouldn’t have it.
Read it now
Twenty-four hours to weave garments fit for a queen. Arachne’s hands shook as a guard shoved her into the small weaving room and slammed the door shut behind her. She looked up at the massive heap of purple chaff just ahead, covering the shadowed floor in front of her.
This is what I get.
Alvina Hutcherton lifted her nose to the sky, spread her fragile, black wings, and reveled in the crisp, night air. She hadn’t been able to fly in years. Old age was a downer, even for a bat. But every night, Nurse Shelly would put on her black sunhat, perch Alvina on top of it,
Read it now
Boom!
Christopher jumped up, knocking their board game off the kitchen table. He turned toward his sister, Paisley. “What was that?”
She shrugged. “Sounded like it came from outside.”
Rushing to the window, Christopher tore back the curtain of their third-story apartment and stepped onto the balcony. The view made him gasp.
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