“Did it hurt?” I look behind me, at the bare spot on the white stone of the road. In the palace, my shadow might even now be slipping under a door, stealing a life. “No,” I tell my daughter. It will hurt later, when my shadow comes home. Featured image by TheAndrasBarta from Pixabay
The dragon was old and weary. My brothers bought our father's approval with her gems. “Let me try,” I begged. Seven times I asked; the eighth time, he agreed. Leaving home, though, was the dragon’s idea. A girl can live years on a ruby or two, after all. Featured image by Peter Lomas from Pixabay
Something moved in the shadows. I held my breath. An hour past midnight on new moon night, read the unsigned note. Bring no lamp. It was a risk: death for you, censure for me—and a lifetime of mourning. “Come.” Your voice floated from the darkness. I shouldered my pack, and we ran. Featured image by … Continue reading In my father’s garden
I am beautiful, I know.
They lit the signal fire in the night.