the glass acts as a type of portal, separating ancestress from descendant. it's been passed down over the centuries, held onto for dear life and handed down when the call came. the story is that the first one to live out the myth managed to enchant it in her last mortal act, and now the …
the hideout
for the first five years she tries to build herself a hideout, tries to hollow out space in a tree for a shed to hide; tries to slip into the depths of the forest and blend into the scenery. none of it ever works, she never feels quite right in the hidey-spaces she's stealing from …
crescendo
she's watchful of the night sky, waiting for it to arrive before she slips out under a cloak of her own making. outside, the city hums, content with the work from the rest of the day, and people are few and far between. tonight she's tempted to take a glass to the roof, fill it …
wonderland
Flash Fiction July, 30 There's a forest tucked away on the outskirts of the city. She doesn't go there often; only in winter, when it frosts over and she has to wear thick-soled hiking boots lined with extra socks and haphazardly-stitched in knitted linings. She pretends it's for the sheer beauty of the place, but it's …
in the kitchen
i'm working through the kitchen cupboards, piling the tables high with ingredients and sifting through them to find the right combination. it was originally intended as a birthday cake, but then i realized i had got the month wrong - now, it's going to be a "just because" cake. actually, on reflection, cupcakes might work …
symbiosis
remember the time you promised eternal creativity?
circuitous
The letter skims through the slot in the door, drifts to the ground with barely a whisper. It'll stay there all day, and easily for the rest of the night; its intended recipient is out, working late and then going on out to dinner. This is where things have come to: letters sent from a …
tracing paper
the sketchbook is splayed across the table, thin gauzy papers stacked in a bundle several inches tall.
lucky thirteen
let's hit the road. (you never say it, but we go anyway)
precipice
lightning rattled the old tree on the clifftop, thunder crackling through the air in the worst weather she could have hoped to find. she set the vessel on the ground, hovering it several inches and creating a fire below. this was perfect weather; the conditions were more than ideal for this ritual. the gown she …
write one craft one 
You must be logged in to post a comment.