There is a tall tower to the north. It is made of stone that looks a common gray from afar. But I have been close enough to see the stone shift hues, to glitter with the gilded veins of an otherworldly ore, to fade into a pale so utmost as to be nigh invisible.
A warlock once lived there, it is said. Now the tower is abandoned.
But that does not mean is it safe.
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“This book contains stories. They are meant to confuse the one who hunts you. None of them are true save one.” The scholar Victoria opened the book. “The story of your life.”
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Naomi clicked on her recorder, took a deep breath, and asked her grand-aunty Z about the one thing that her mother and grandmother told her to never, ever, never, never, ever ask her about.
“Aunty, what did you see when you went into Mausefalle Manor? And how is it that you got out when so many other people never did?” Continue reading
No one in town could explain the tracks. Where they came from. Where they were going. And who—or what—had made them. Continue reading
STORYFEATHER 