of The Inn of Stormy Nights
Some of my favorite stories are just whispers told when the moon is high and the fire is low. They come as the horizon between waking and sleeping is met. They are the stories that have no clear beginning or ending and no one is quite sure where they came from. Some discount these stories …
Everyone has their own reality and as a result, the universe is a giant ocean of millions upon millions of realities bumping into eachother enough that there is a giant ocean, if you stepped back enough to see your reality for those deep waters. Whether you choose to believe this statement is up to your …
I am not supposed to play favorites, as the keeper of all the stories that ever were, ever will be and always are, but I do. I have a favorite. My favorite are the curious who end up in extraordinary situations. Situations they never would have experienced had they the sense to sit still at …
There is always a lighthouse. At the edge of the sea, at the edge of the world and at the crest of the horizon. At the fall of the woods, the curve of a road, the corner of a tea shop and the bins in an alley. Wherever it is needed, whenever it is needed; …
Above the clouds, with the stars, sits a lighthouse full of books which wrap around the winding staircase until the tower’s peak hits the ceiling of the universe. At this peak is a light which shines through a window. A long trail of gold which glitters brighter than any pot at a rainbow’s end. Those …
The Return of the Traveler King On the eastern shore, a silver-cloaked figure walked to the beat of chilled spray and squawks of puffins. The locals, creeping from their warm beds as dawn poked through autumn clouds, mistook him for a ghost dressed in grey, haunting the red sand shores. He seemed more mist than …
The Girl and Her Tiger: Wandering Together When the fog rolled over the northern moors, doors were shut and lights went on. A practice designed to keep away the wisps which danced and the voices which talked and led anyone, foolish enough to walk in the fog, far away to never returned. Like the little …
Centuries earlier, on the western coast of the Continent, the wind blew white foam over the tide. Toward the north where the land jutted out like the white claw of a dragon’s foot, sat a lighthouse. It shone a yellow hand through the ever-present blanket of fog. Scrambling down the hill from the lighthouse, full …
Of Doors and Stumbling Around in the Dark She had opened the door, expecting light, or at the very least, a light switch. She was here to find answers. Her sisters had said they’d found lanterns when they’d done this. Maybe hers would be in the form of a candle. She’d not seen much …
Seek the Dreamer, my child. When you have sought every last fantasy whispered to the first stars of the night, you will find your way home once more. # The old king stood at the edge of the water. It wrapped icy waves around his bare feet and ankles. Each drag of water covered his …