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
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.
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Green was her favorite color. Linzi used to call it the color of life. She was such an unusual child; she’d even begged to have the house shutters painted in Island Palm.
Now when I see green, it just reminds me of her death.
I sit next to the rain-splattered window, catching
Every predator, no matter how strong, can meet its end.
I stared into the ornate, gilded mirror. People whispered I was obsessed with my reflection, that perhaps the mirror held magic properties that caused my vanity to need constant satisfying. What a ridiculous notion.
But the truth was stranger than
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The table was cold against my back.
“Mrs. Young, before we begin the Neurological Reinvigoration Process, we have to ask you some final questions.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Young, but we need you to give us verbal confirmation for all questions. Do you understand?”
I started to nod, then caught myself. “Y-yes.
“Can you help me?”
Charles blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He was proud to be among the skeptics who placed fairies into the same category as little green men, ghosts, and the Man in the Moon.
Yet there she was, collapsed on the ground in the middle of the rose garden
The carved scenes on the face of the casket looked alive, despite its intended purpose, and with it I would bury my nightmare.
The shop smelled of fresh-shaved cedar, delicate curls collecting in small drifts upon the dirt floor as I poured my pain into finishing this task.
The shop door scraped open,
I sit, enthroned in the branches of a mighty oak. Waiting…
Grandmother had warned us not to gather herbs in the woods. “Beware the wolf who hunts the forest for unsuspecting souls,” she would say.
That day, I forgot.
I should have known better, but I was drawn by a man more beautiful
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