I remember my first glimpse of her in early July. She peeked in the window of my bakery as I went about my opening routine. I may never forget the morning sun shining on her platinum hair, surrounding her with a luminous halo.
She next brightened the door of Bob’s House of the Rising Bun…
“If we said wedding vows, do you think we’d say ‘‘til death do us part,’ or ‘‘til death bring us together’?” I raised my gray, ghostly hand to view it in the moonlight.
“I don’t know, Eliza, but d’ya think you can ask this question again after we stop two raging yōkai from…
Sketchbook in hand, I leaned over the watchtower’s edge. Dark shadows crept across the hills toward us.
Below me, a dozen farmers added sweeping strokes to the canvas in the center square. Hard to believe these men’s artistic experiences once extended only as far as the furrows their plows carved into the earth.
“It’s so cute!” Gloria cooed. She bent over the tiny, growling demon.
“That’s not a puppy, Gloria. You can’t keep it.” I glared at the ugly creature cowering behind my backyard shed. “Rip it apart like a good werewolf and send it back to Hell.” She ignored me. Crouching next to it, she extended her hand…
Camden’s armor sinks into the soaked ground, but he doesn’t dare break his stance. The Lady of the Lake stands before him on the water’s surface, shrouded in moonlight, hair flowing in expansive waves. She alone holds the authority to name the next heir who will rule Killeg; should he not be named, House Visroy will fall, and the province will descend into war.
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“Eugenia, I can’t put a princess ballgown on a gorgon,” I squeak through the doorway of the sales office. “It won’t match her hair!”
Our immaculate, skirt-suited manager looks up from her spreadsheets. “Mary, you know our policy.”
“Make every bride feel like a daydream.” I hike up my armload of tulle-engorged plastic garment bags.
I knew the dangers of stopping for a stranded traveler, so I often passed them without a thought, praying for someone else to help. I had lived in Michigan all my life and experienced April snow squalls that formed from nowhere. Such is the way with the Mitten State in spring.
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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.
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I just needed two more minutes!
“Come on!” I whispered to my masterpiece. Four minutes left on the clock for the challenge. Once my timer beeped, I’d have just enough time to plate it for presentation to Chef Gordy Lynn.
I quadruple-checked everything was ready on the nearby counter. I couldn’t afford any mistakes.
“You’re about to see wonders none of your friends back home will believe.” The old sailor wiped his sweaty brow with a stained cloth. “Y-e-p.”
He dragged the word out to three distinct syllables, and Daryn gritted his teeth. That dingy, smelly codger danced daily on what nerves remained in Daryn’s control…
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.
“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
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