Fire of the heart. In an attempt to share with you the stories in my head, I’ve (perhaps quite foolishly) decided to actually start sharing them here.
Here’s to hoping I can get them out of draft and into publish.
Oh, and it goes without saying none of these can be reposted elsewhere without permission and proper crediting. It’s a new decade – we should all know what the right side of legal is when it comes to sharing.
Oftentimes, it simply makes one more accepting, with the stars in their eyes blinding them temporarily to the faults they usually won’t find acceptable.
“He was supposed to five years ago, ma’am, but seeing as he disappeared two years before that..” he trailed off.
It was Burning Day.
Rose was ten the first time she had a glimpse of The Book. She knew that the chest was to come to her – it was passed on to the eldest child of the current holder – but it was only on that spring afternoon that she was able to take a look at what’s inside.
Turns out, everyone else’s secrets are too much for me.