Maize ran her fingers along the fresh scars trailing her arm as she stared at the king’s latest request. The white suit lay draped across her red-wood weaving desk. Make this suit so that its wearer is immortal, the king’s messenger had told her. Then, perhaps, will you be forgiven.
Strands of afternoon
This was the last time I’d ever let Matt drive Baby, my gorgeous poppy-red ATV.
We hit bump after bump trucking up the mountain. I hung onto Matt for dear life as we rumbled over clumps of clay rocks, spewing pebbles. Finally, he swung Baby to a stop. Around us stretched Heartbreak Woods,
Birds sing joyous melodies in the courtyard outside my window. A fine day for a wedding! It’s a shame our beloved king’s betrothed wants him dead.
Feet scurry through the palace hallways, and nervous voices bounce off the walls as servants rush about making preparations. If only they knew the truth.
But I know.
The carriage arrived late in the afternoon, but Sebastian didn’t get out right away. He peered through the frosted glass at the house, its cobblestone siding glowing in the sunset. Candles flickered in the snow laden windows like watchful eyes.
Sebastian glanced at the paper on the bench beside him. The dreaded “yellow slip”
The cloaked figure stole into Deidra’s shop, flinching as the bell above her door signaled his arrival. Deidra looked up from the ancient, yellowed pages of her collection on Kumerian legends.
The cloak and hood were not unusual this time of year, considering the cold bite that followed him inside. Yet Deidra got
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An old wives’ tale says that you can only see the froombas if you pluck a magical ‘shroom from below the frozen lake. A simple task. And I don’t say that as a gullible maiden or to tell lies out of my pantaloons.
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My blood freezes. I know that tingling scent. The scent of magic. Magic long dead in these parts. But there… that flicker of tantalizing other. That otherness resonates within me.
I scan the crowded pub for possible sources. Sweat, the stink of unwashed bodies, mutton left too long over the flames
I step into a sea of glass.
Vials of clear liquid fill Scentsational’s shelves from floor to ceiling. Fluorescent light reflects off the glass, momentarily blinding me.
I gape at the shop. I’ve heard whispers but never dared to enter. All these vials supposedly hold different scents appealing to different people.
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“I really hope this artifact is worth all the hassle,” I remarked to my partner, Alma, as we climbed over a caved-in wall. “This maze of ruins is going to drive me crazy.”
“Oh, stop complaining. We’re getting close.”
“How can you tell? This place is so poorly designed.”
At that instant, the floor fell out,
The dark market never changed. Even after sixty years, the rickety stalls seemed apt to blow over at a breath, and the sun unable to penetrate the dark shroud.
Penelope halted at the edge of the alleyway. Jack’s voice echoed in her head––“I want an orb!”––and her staunch response––
“These are the practices we must observe,” Master Yvear said. “Neglect them, and we neglect life itself.”
“Yes, master,” Ranghur said dutifully for the thousandth time.
Or he supposed it was that much. He had been apprenticed to the temple on his seventh birthday, now over three years ago, and he could do the sums.
“Thief!”
Esme stormed across the weathered floorboards of her seaside shop. Displays of enchanted sea-glass and metal pendants swung in the wake of her temper, clinking like warning chimes.
Jack froze, his hand half-in, half-out of the small wooden chest that usually stayed beneath the counter, away from customers’ curious gazes.
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