Fairy Stories & Other Tales

 Once upon a time the world turned cold. Not on purpose. Not with malicious intent.  The sun had gone away, you see. And the world did not know if the sun would ever return. But it did. It always does. Remember that.

There’s a sound.        A breathing in the wind.      A noise between the trees.     A bellow.     It hits your ears as if a thousand glasses shatter.      And that is when you see it.     It’s ten-taloned feet thudding, three tails blazing forked fire, as many heads slashing their gnashing teeth through the air in ripping snarls.       A monster.      Your feet back up as quickly as your jaw drops and you take in the gleaming red eyes that pulse with each closing of scaly lids. Until you feel the wall of an ancient castle tight against your back, the deep moss soaking through your clothes, the points of uneven stone making small cuts as you push willing it to move, or, better still, fold in around you.      You feel the clang of metal hit against the stone, a reminder that the sword that runs the length of your leg is no more than a too...

 Sweeps of rain drenched the earth while two women sat without speaking, equally, if perhaps more, soaked than the ground. All of this was done on purpose. They were to sit, slowly freezing, until they could take it no more, and then they would give up the ghost and speak with one another. Like the rational witches they were. Until such differences, as had brought about a verbal discussion set at a pitch that made others uncomfortable, were resolved.     This was, of course, the decision of a magic council. It need not be said that men were involved.     The chill of the rain set well into their bones. Silence, however, remained the preferred option.     There was little to say when the other was so very, very wrong.     Heavy silences fester in the same way as jock itch, however. And these witches were too good at their jobs to allow anything to fester — potions must be made.     'Tea?' asked one.  ...

Once there was a wicked queen who found herself robbed of all her powers. The prince, who had rendered her powerless, defenseless and old, did not notice that while he vanquished her power he did not vanquish her life. Thus, she was left to wander the world as an aged hag.     Embittered and full of vengeful thoughts, the hag struggled through village after village, town after town, city after city, seeking a solution to her magicless state, spitting on all she felt were beneath her. Until one day she came upon a sorcerer gardening in his fortress. The hag, recognizing power for what it was, strove to strike a deal: what aid she could offer in his garden for a small portion of his power.     The sorcerer, for reasons kept only to himself, had no desire to barter.     Upon realizing this, the hag sneaked inside his fortress and stole a series of books with titles promising enchantments. From these, she hoped to derive a plan to steal or sacrif...