I heard her climbing up to check on the source of the clatter, just as I had. And when I heard Marta enter the room and scream, half of me wanted to turn around and comfort her.
The other half of me wanted to keep locking gazes with the specter that was floating outside the attic window.
“Alas! We are doomed to die as caterpillars, never having become butterflies.” Lickspittle shook his head. He gazed up and shook several fists at the sky.
Sobersides sighed gravely. “Perhaps tomorrow morning.” Continue reading
Once upon a time, there was a thriving civilization living under the light of a warm yellow sun. As eons passed, the civilization spread. It advanced. It regressed. It advanced again. It rose. It declined. And it rose again. It changed, became unrecognizable from its past self. And as the civilization did, so did the sun that burned above it and smiled down upon it. The warm yellow sun was aging, and as it did, it grew warmer and warmer, and bigger and bigger, darker and darker, yellow to orange to red, until the smiling yellow sun became a glaring red giant. Continue reading
The Northern Star that guides those who are lost from sky to earth to ocean was born of a flower. So was the giant Scorpion, the Herald of Death, who carries the departed past the veil into the afterworld. And so was the Blue Butterfly, the Emblem of Life, who guides newly arrived souls to their earthly anchors. The star, the scorpion, and the butterfly. The three are bound by an ancestor at once humble and extraordinary. It had no name in its short life.
Now it is called Imberflos, the Stormflower. Continue reading