In Vermont, we call the spring thaw Mud Season, a time of year that gives new meaning to the word battleground, for it’s necessary to battle the ground simply to walk. Either you struggle while the muck sucks at your shoes and even skirts if they aren’t hitched up a bit, or you tumble when it’s too slick, which causes the unwary much irritation.
Read it now
Let me tell you the story of a dragon who wanted to be a man.
My name is Eleanor Thornhail, and I’m a worldhopper—long story—and I’d gotten myself stranded on a strange world of magic and dragons.
One dragon in particular was my ticket out. I’d found him hiding among the humans, working as a librarian for the Infinite Library.
When I opened the Book of Madness, lightning streaked outside the mansion’s window.
Thunder bellowed.
My flashlight illuminated scribblings on the faded pages as I traced my finger along a paragraph, skimming with eyes squinted, mumbling the Latin translation of ancient text. I flipped a page, propping myself against the reading table.
“With the beat, Master Quintin. With the beat.” The black-clad man paced in tandem with the metronome, his polished shoes clicking like talons on the marble floor.
I would have welcomed an ice pick to my skull over the abrasive tick, tick, tick dictating my every musical inclination. But my parents had made it clear that if I didn’t submit to…
Get comfortable, my exquisite Snowflake. I have a story to tell.
My tale begins with a meandering stroll through a chilly, moonlit forest. As I wandered, families slumbered in cozy cottages, blissfully unaware that dawn’s golden light would soon reveal intricate patterns on their windowpanes, an icy gift from none other than myself, Jack Frost.
My consciousness slowly absorbed the sounds and images around me. I’d been summoned. I floated above the scene, an incorporeal presence. Until a creator conjured me into a physical form, I remained an observer of the world around me.
“Hurry, Jinny, we have to finish before we go to school!”
“I just opened the
Everyone knows you’re supposed to exchange sweets with loved ones on Valentine’s Day.
What no one had ever specified—probably for lack of a reason—was that those sweets probably shouldn’t be sentient.
My bad.
“Broomsticks and baubles!” I stood in the middle of the kitchen of my magical boarding school,
Let me preface by saying I didn’t mean to get cursed into a dragon.
It just sort of happened. When your father wages a surprise attack against a rival enchantress queen, curses are bound to occur.
All in all, I thought my father got off easily. Invade a neighboring country, get a cursed son.
“And what can I do for you, Tilli?” Dr. Miranda asked.
The gnome youth sat across the desk from her, a wisp of a girl with pink hair and delicate features. While she still had her gnomish dewdrop-shaped eyes and purple skin, she was currently the height of a human teenager
Nearby pines shiver, wind whipping through frost-encrusted needles. Wrapped in furs, I ignore the breeze. I’ve got more important things to worry about. Breath misting, I hold my bow ready.
In the distance, the arching mouth of a cave juts from the edge of a rocky, frostbitten foothill. A thick splatter of ice rims the rough-hewn edges.
Beings. The aimless complaint came unbidden to Egwae’s idling mind.
She withdrew her hand from a withering vine of translucent flame and closed her eyes. A deep breath filled her with alpine air. Earthly. Abrasive. Traces of her father’s realm emanated from the wall of vibrant, unruly foliage that loomed over her kneeling form,
You wrap me in colored blankets every night, muttering to yourself in an ancient tongue, the words falling from your lips like a desperate prayer, like a spell that never finds its mark. You are a mother at heart—just not my mother.
I watch you empty the basin at my window,
Recent Comments