Thirty-five. Into the Otherworld.


Everything changed abruptly. The air mimicked a knife’s edge and Lyric immediately sensed it. Something old. Something musty but frigid as all of winter all at once. Gray shadows outlined the desiccated trees in front of her. Here was the true dead of winter.

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excerpts from the mists of na crainn

in the forest

A knife of wind cut through the leaves above the girl’s head. Their shredded remnants bolted forward and so did she, running with her arms pulling at the air.  More…

the planetarium in the attic

Configurations of stars-the hunter, the sleeper, the twins and the regal peacock-burnished the pallet of sky before her eyes.  More…