The troupe was led by a girl who was barely older than the girls she led.
Pomeline was her name.
They twirled and they tumbled. They leapt and they tapped. Skip and glissade. Skip and glissade. They were charming, and fairly skilled.
But they were not the best.
Pomeline wanted them to be the best.
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Lucinda held her breath, as she raised the glass rod above the vial and tapped the rod to release the single drop of liquid that clung to its end.
The drop fell in the vial, joining the muddy liquid within. The liquid turned ruddy, then clear. And it stayed clear.
Lucinda dared to exhale just as the liquid began to swirl and turn ruddy, then muddy. She ducked under the table just before the vial shattered, spraying red flames and charred bits of glass in every direction.
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Once upon a time, flowers lived long lives. They are now known to be fleeting, for the most part. They bud. They bloom. They grace the world with their beauty. And then they die. But it was not always so. They lived long lives indeed. Longer than creatures with many legs. Longer than creatures with four legs. Longer than creatures with two legs. And sometimes, even longer than the long-lived beings of the deep.
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There is a potion that can be made from the bright yellow mushroom that grows in the vales beyond the blue grasses. The potion must be made in a certain way or it would contain no power at all. The potion had to be made twice, once at sunrise and once at sunset, of the same day. So in truth, it was two potions. Whatever the potion made at sunrise did, the potion made at sunset could undo.
Read More A Potion of Uncertain Fortune
My name is Perry Verdilay. In a single act of reckless desperation, I changed my perception of the world. And maybe gave myself a condition, a curse, a burden that I may not be strong enough to bear. I can see things that others can only feel or imagine. I’ve been this way for about nine months now. And something happened recently that made me doubt myself, made me doubt what I’d been seeing. That made me think it was about time I asked for help. That was an easy decision. The hard decision was choosing whom to tell and whom to ask for that hel
Read More The Potion of Allegory