I land in the field behind the castle, and the impact sends a jolt of pain through my joints. I yelp, then grimace.
Pathetic. I may be over a thousand years old, but I have a reputation to uphold!
Spreading my carmine wings wide, I roar.
Everyone knows how the stories go.
The princess imprisoned by a dragon. Then the knight comes and fights the dragon with his mighty lance and rescues the lady.
It’s a good story to tell around the hearth on a winter’s night.
There’s only one trouble with it, and I see that now:
The Dark Lord Vangir snapped his newspaper into crisp submission.
All around him, the summery sounds of mountain life hummed. A pleasant breeze brushed through the weave of his reclining lawn chair, working with the goblet of chilled red lemonade in his calloused hand
Someone shrieked. Everyone’s heads, including mine, swung toward the east side of the village. A riderless broom raced westward, skimming almost close enough overhead to part my hair. Something red dripped from its straws.
Some folks in the market square yelped with panic. Others raced for cover. A few flung themselves over their wares.
It is day 1,826 of my captivity. As usual, I stand silent in the treasure room, dusting cloth in hand, ankles in chains. But since it’s also Supremacy Day, I’ve seen an unusually high number of visitors. Dozens of blue people stopping by to
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“Evie! Wake up!” I shake my sister, careful not to touch her skin, and grimace at the new color engulfing her favorite fluffy blanket.
“Tiff?” Evie yawns. I back away. She opens her eyes, takes one look at me, and shrieks.
“Shhh!” I wave my hands, eyes wide.
“What happened to you?” she hisses,
Barrett glanced around the near-empty café. She couldn’t just leave her position! The lunch crowd would be pouring in any second now. She wasn’t the kind of person that just closed up shop at a child’s request. And yet… There was something about the
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Dan McKnight knew what his next customer wanted: strawberries, her favorite fruit. The familiar woman stood before him, wrapped in a scarlet cloak as though she’d stepped out of a pre-Raphaelite painting.
“Hi, Cathy. I’ve picked a punnet just for you.” He lifted
Heart thrilling with discovery, Sweetsage bounded through the vibrant forest. She crashed through a hovering coterie of fairies, scattering them. As she dashed through the meadow, rabbits jumped and darted. Behind the cottage, she found Papa chopping kindling.
“I found a dragon egg!”
“A pinch of mint, a sprinkle of red clover. Three drops of deep golden honey, and the sun-kissed petals of a yellow daisy. The peel of an orange, an azure feather of a bluebird, and…” I gave the cauldron contents a slow stir.
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The crone’s home lies deep within the forest, so covered in moss and vines that I almost miss it. The old woman sits on a stool by her front door, hunched over a massive tome, running her fingers across lines of text.
I adjust
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Twilight falls, and shadows hang heavily over me.
I snuggle deeper into my red cloak, tighten my grip on my basket of treats, and continue down the tangled path.
Darkness deepens with each step.
What I thought was a tree’s shadow moves
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